


the unlocking and the lift away

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Cats, College, Domestic Bliss, Families of Choice, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-War, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 59,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can't not build a life just because things might change. </p><p>Or, Ray gets an MBA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stolemyslumber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stolemyslumber/gifts).



> Lake, did you mean to write a novel about Ray inheriting a cat and going to live at Brad's house and ending up being grossly domestic? No, no I did not. I don't even know what happened here, one day this was a couple hundred words of an idea and then NaNoWriMo rolled around and I needed a project.
> 
> See the end for more tl;dr notes and all the thank-yous.

"If this is a bad idea, we can totally get a hotel, right?" Ray asks the cat, listening to the engine tick as it cools. He's put nearly a thousand miles on the car in the last few days and spent the last sixty to Brad's hoping she wouldn't overheat. "I don't think Brad'll leave us on the street, but he might not even be home, and I am definitely not fucking sleeping in the car again."

Mr. Fluffy pushes his head into Ray's hand and makes a pitiful-sounding noise. "Yeah, I'm tired of sitting in here too, buddy," Ray says, and unbuckles his seatbelt. He scoops up the cat and gets out of the car. There are lights on inside of Brad's house, but that doesn't mean he's home. Or that Ray has the right address. 

Mr. Fluffy doesn't try to escape as Ray carries him up the walkway. He gives a questioning chirp at the echoing sound of the doorbell inside. "Me too, cat," Ray tells him.

The door opens. Ray's definitely at the right house. Brad's backlit by the overhead light in the foyer, but Ray can tell he's blinking. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts that look almost too short on him. He stares at Ray for a couple seconds before he says, "Ray. What are you doing here?"

"Me and this cat here need a place to crash for tonight," Ray says, giving Brad his best, most winning smile, the one he'd used on grumpy night managers mad about the internet not working in their Ozarks hotels. God, that job had sucked. "I got your address from the directory and, uh. I hope that was cool."

Brad blinks again. He looks confused. He rubs at his neck, then seems to relax, his shoulders coming down a little more. "Uh, fuck. Sure, why not? Come on in. What's with the cat?" He holds open the screen door for Ray.

"This is Mr. Fluffy. Don't ask, he came with that name, and then he got sort of… left with me. It's a long story." One he doesn't want to tell right now, so he hopes Brad doesn't ask.

"Came with _that_ name," Brad repeats slowly. He tilts his head at the cat. "You can put him down."

"He's chill, he's kinda old," Ray assures him. "I got his stuff in the car. We'll stay out of your way." He lowers Mr. Fluffy carefully to the ground. 

Brad's regarding him with a cautious look when he straightens up again. "Far be it from me to question the travels of a man and an inherited pile of hair masquerading as a cat," Brad says, "but isn't Columbus, Georgia quite a drive from Nevada, Missouri?"

"It is. I got into the Barkdale School here." Ray jerks a thumb in the general direction of Barkdale, twenty minutes northeast of Brad's house, or so Google Maps tells him. He hasn't actually been to campus yet. "I'm getting an MBA," he tells Brad with a grin. "I decided to get all educated."

Brad rolls his eyes, which feels like the old days. Mr. Fluffy meows loudly, and they both look at him standing a few feet away. Ray says, "I'm going to go get his stuff so he doesn't do anything he shouldn't to your floors."

"I need a new mop," Brad deadpans. Then he waves a hand at the cat. "Yeah, there's plenty of room here, so - yeah."

Ray leaves Brad and the cat to eye each other suspiciously. He's only got the big travel pack for himself, with Mr. Fluffy's blankets and toys all rolled up in the space where a sleeping bag should go. The rest of the cat stuff is stuffed in a Target bag, and the litter box isn't super big, since he had to fit it in the car and all. "Ray," Brad calls out into the night. "Move your weird car into the driveway."

"Right, okay!" 

Brad leaves the front door open, light streaming out over the front steps and part of the front yard. Ray can see the house is painted a muted green and that the cement steps are a reddish color. There's a plain mat in front of the door. When he goes back inside, leaving his Converse next to Brad's BDU boots and running shoes on the rag rug right inside the front door, he finds Brad and the cat in the very plain, sparsely-outfitted kitchen. Even the dish towel next to the sink is plain. 

Mr. Fluffy is lapping at a cereal bowl full of water while Brad watches him with narrow eyes. "I brought his bowls, homes," Ray says. "But thanks."

"Figured he was thirsty if you drove all that way." Brad shrugs. "I've got a guest room, come on."

He leads Ray into a room with only a twin bed, a small nightstand with a lamp, and a dresser. The comforter is blue and plain, but it looks soft, and Ray is reminded how tired he is. Driving on the highway in America shouldn't be so tiring. 

The closet door is open, showing it contains only a few hangers and one clear plastic bin that looks like it's holding some leftover computer parts. "Uh, I can move that stuff out of here, if you want," Brad says. His hands are behind his back, and he's looking at Ray like he's worried Ray's about to cast horrible judgement on his plain, boring house.

Ray shakes his head. "It's cool. Do you have a cheap towel or old rug or something I can put under the litterbox for now, just in case?"

"Sure." Brad disappears down the hall. 

Mr. Fluffy jumps up onto the bed and sniffs at the pillows before turning around in a circle and plonking his ass on the bed. Ray is sure he's going to get hair all over. 

Brad comes back with a well-worn bathmat. "I was going to toss it next garbage day, so. Feel free."

"This is great." Ray gets the cat's stuff set up quickly in the corner and Mr. Fluffy immediately abandons his perch on the bed to hop in. "That's gross," Ray says to him. "Don't stare at humans while you pee, man."

Brad starts laughing. It's a sound Ray hasn't heard in a long time. Then Brad claps him on the back - _no_ , Ray doesn't jump - and says, "I'll let you settle in. The bathroom is the next door to the right, and there are towels and stuff in there you can use." He eyes Ray's pack like he can tell Ray didn't bring very much with him. "I leave pretty early for the base, but if you get up before eight, the coffee should still be hot, and there's food in the fridge you can eat. I'm across the hall if you need anything."

"Thanks, man. I mean it."

Brad shrugs. "Plenty of room, Ray," he says before he walks out of the bedroom, leaving Ray to contemplate this previously unseen general agreeableness for a second before he starts unpacking his own stuff.

*

Brad is indeed gone when Ray wakes up the next morning at seven-thirty to Mr. Fluffy staring at him, pink nose inches from Ray's face. "You want breakfast, huh," Ray mumbles. Mr. Fluffy puts his paw directly on Ray's eye before making a grumbly sort of noise and jumping down off the bed. Ray sighs and sits up. He'd slept decently; Brad's guest bed is definitely better than most motel rooms, and infinitely better than sleeping outdoors.

As Brad said, the coffee is still hot, and he left out a clean mug on the counter for Ray. Ray finds a small container of milk in the refrigerator - smart, for only one person, especially if Brad's not home all the time. He makes a note on his phone to replace it, as well as the last two English muffins that he sticks in the toaster. While they're warming up, he gives the cat some dry food. Mr. Fluffy spills half of it across the linoleum like he normally does, and Ray only makes fun of him for a second, since he knows the cat will eat it eventually. 

There's a jar of peanut butter, barely used, in one of the cupboards. Ray also notes where Brad keeps various dishes, boxes of spaghetti, and jars of sauce. He peeks in the freezer to find a bunch of meats, all neatly labeled and lined up. Well, at least Brad seems to be feeding himself okay. Ray washes off his plate when he finishes his muffins, and realizes with a start that the whole time they'd both been in California, he'd never been to Brad's place. 

"Note to self: ask Brad why he doesn't just live on base," he mutters to himself as he gets in the shower. "Maybe it's the water pressure, fuck, this is great." Nothing will ever beat the randomly amazing shower at the Forty Winks Motel in Fayetteville, but Brad's is nice. There's cheap shampoo and Old Spice body wash in the corner, which makes Ray laugh, but he's also not surprised. 

He uses the shampoo, then the last of the conditioner he'd liberated from a motel stop in Memphis, and then stands under the spray for a while, trying not to focus on anything but the feel of the water pounding down onto his scalp. Definitely not noticing that the shower still smells like Old Spice. When the water finally starts to cool, he turns it off and gets out.

Mr. Fluffy stands on the bed, tail flicking back and forth, as Ray gets dressed. "This is the last of my clean stuff, so we definitely need to find a place," Ray tells him. "And probably go shopping."

Mr. Fluffy looks bored by this and yawns before curling up on Brad's nice guest room pillow. "If he's mad about that, I'm not saving you," Ray warns. Mr. Fluffy ignores him. "Okay, be good, I'll be back later."

It's then that he notices a key on the nightstand, along with a with a slip of paper with a phone number and the wireless password on it. He programs the number into his phone and sends, _Brad, I hope this was you & not a shadowy midnight visitor who watched me sleep_. Then he puts on his shoes and grabs his keys and wallet, and carefully locks Brad's front door behind him on his way out of the house.

His Barkdale paperwork is all still in the car, a haphazard pile in the back seat, so maybe some organization is in order before he actually goes to sort out where his classes are and the best way to get to and around campus. So he stops at the Super Target he'd passed last night on his way into town, gets a couple folders and notebooks, and wet food and a feathery toy for Mr. Fluffy. And another coffee, since there's a Starbucks at the exit. After a second's thought, he gets Brad a package of ground French roast, much nicer than the cheap can he saw in the cupboard, as a thank-you.

He's parked in the visitor's lot at Barkdale when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It's a text from Brad. It says _shut up Ray_ , and Ray cackles as he unbuckles and gets out. At this point that should probably be a cross-stitch on someone's wall. 

The admissions office is easy to find and the woman at the front desk hands him a map of campus before pointing him in the direction of his actual advisor, in the next building over. It's not a big campus, but Ray only sees two other people on his way across a grassy open space labeled on the map as 'the bazaar'. He figures it's only quiet right now because it's still summer term. 

His advisor turns out to be a guy who looks to be in his fifties with greying hair, dressed in jeans and a Barkdale t-shirt. "Tom Hanson, but please, Tom's fine," he says, shaking Ray's hand. "Good to meet you, Ray."

"Likewise, sir."

Tom chuckles and waves him towards one of the chairs pulled up across from the desk. "Military?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I was in the Corps during OIF," Ray says, sitting down. "Calling people 'sir' is one of those habits that's hard to break."

"We get quite a few former military. I doubt you'll be the only one this class." He shuffles through a few stacks of paper on his desk before counting out several pages and handing them over. "I know we mailed you some stuff, and I think you talked to Caroline - she's the other advisor - on the phone a few times, but I'm happy to go over it with you, since base camp starts next Wednesday."

Ray skims the papers, which are a printed-out version of the newsletter he'd read online while packing to leave, and a class schedule. "So base camp is really a way to springboard right into the program with minimal questions," Tom is saying. "It's not any sort of boot camp or anything like that, more a team-building thing, getting to know your classmates since you'll be together for two years. There is a ropes course, though, try not to cream everyone else."

Ray laughs at that. "No promises."

Tom goes over class structure and requirements, pulling up Ray's transcripts from MSU as he does. "You may want to brush up on stats," he says, running his finger down the computer screen. "Your grades were fine, clearly, but we all know how easy it is to forget things over the summer, so I like to tell people to skim through some online resources before base camp, as a refresher."

It's a good idea. "Sure, I can do that."

"Second semester, we assign all the graduate students an undergrad to mentor," Tom continues, and Ray nods, remembering that from the website. "It's usually not a big thing, you're only there to try to answer school questions if they have them, provide homework tips, but we keep it low-key, and if you don't know whatever it is just point them towards an advisor."

"You got it, Tom."

Tom chuckles. "Last, but not least: dress code." 

Ray takes a quick mental inventory of his in-state belongings as Tom lists off what they'll be expected to wear. He's definitely going to need to go shopping; when he'd fled Missouri he hadn't figured on having to wear a suit in Georgia in August to this meet-and-greet breakfast, and slacks with button-downs the rest of the time. And definitely not his Converse. "No casual Fridays, is what I'm getting."

"Alas, here it's professional Fridays. Networking opportunities, internships, et cetera. Definitely no Hawaiian shirts unless you take the internship with one of the vacation companies." Tom leans back in his chair and adds, "That said, if you get a chance to explore outside of town, it's some nice sailing along the coast."

Sailing really isn't Ray's thing, but it's probably Brad's. "How about jet skiing?"

"Just don't get off your ride. Jellyfish."

"I'll pass on that," Ray says with a shudder. Tom chuckles and stands up, shaking Ray's hand once more and explaining quickly where he should go to buy a parking permit and his textbooks. 

Several hundred dollars later, he's set to go minus the businesswear. "When was the last time I even owned a suit that all matched, damn," he mutters under his breath as he heads back to Brad's. 

Mr. Fluffy meows for five minutes straight when Ray walks in, until he's gotten all his new stuff inside and spoons half the can of wet food into the cat's bowl. "Ungrateful monster," he says as Mr. Fluffy attacks it, but he doesn't mean it. 

His stomach growls and he realizes it's way past lunchtime. There's a loaf of whole wheat in the bread box and some deli meats in the fridge, so he makes a quick sandwich before texting Brad. _can I make you dinner? a/k/a thanks for letting me crash_

After a second he also sends, _mr fluffy says thanks 2_

By the time he's finished eating and had a few glasses of water, organized his school supplies, and found a couple statistics refreshers for free online, Brad's written back. _yes - don't get cat hair in it - home by 6 at the latest_

Ray feels justified in responding with _mr fluffy says fuck off_ before he bookmarks the websites and closes his laptop. 

He gets sort of lost looking for a grocery store - fucking streets with similar names and stupid north/south designations - but finds the Publix eventually, still with nearly two hours to spare before Brad should be back. There's salmon on special, so he gets some of that, a rice blend he knows is pretty good, and some spinach to make a salad. "Don't get cat hair in it," he grumbles to himself, hefting the bag into the passenger seat.

Mr. Fluffy darts around Ray's feet as he gets set up in the kitchen, but goes to curl up under the table after a few minutes. "I'll pet you later, buddy," Ray promises him as he puts the lid on the rice pot and sprinkles salt and pepper over the fish. It goes into a large frying pan - Brad's got decent cookware, even if it is plain like everything else in the house. Idly, Ray wonders if it was something leftover from the engagement that fell apart. 

He's reading apartment listings on Craigslist on his phone and poking the fish with a paring knife when Brad comes home. Ray hears him taking off his boots by the front door, then suddenly he's looming in the doorway to the kitchen. "Smells good, Ray," he says, sounding surprised. When Ray raises an eyebrow at him, he tugs lightly at the collar of his BDU blouse and offers a half smile.

Ray pulls down two bowls for their salads and says, "Hey, I'm not complete shit in the kitchen. Just don't ask me to do anything involving bread, stuff with yeast, that crap."

"I'll be sure keep that in mind. Do I have time to change?"

"Sure."

Brad stands there watching him for another few seconds before spinning on his socked heel and striding down the hallway. Mr. Fluffy makes a meeping sort of noise and trots after him, tail in the air. Ray shakes his head and starts transferring dishes to the small dining table that Brad's got tucked under a window. 

"Can I ask you a question, Ray?" Brad says, returning in what looks like the same basketball shorts and white t-shirt he'd worn yesterday. 

Ray is immediately suspicious. "Uh, sure you can ask, but that doesn't mean I'll answer."

Brad glares at him for a second before turning to get two bottles of water from the fridge. "Why are you driving a gay-ass yuppie white Yaris, the likes of which no hick Missourian has ever driven, lest their redneck badge be revoked and they be driven out of the state by an angry pitchfork-wielding mob of rainbow-flag-burners?"

"Don't call Samantha a yuppie, you'll offend her," Ray answers. Brad glares at him again and Ray grins hugely in response. "You know, you don't outrank me anymore, you can't look at me like that and compel me to answer your stupid questions."

He hands Brad a fork. Brad gives him another deeply skeptical look and says, " _Samantha_."

"Eat before it gets cold," Ray tells him, sitting down and cracking the seal on the water bottle. "Who knew you felt that strongly about the fucking Yaris? I inherited it from my aunt, dude; she didn't want it when my grandfather went into the nursing home, and since it was _free_ and shit, I wasn't going to wave my pitchfork and say _no_."

Brad pauses with fork in hand, makes his _I suppose those words make sense in that order_ face - great, Ray can still recognize that - nods, and continues eating. Ray rolls his eyes and digs in. 

"That was good, Ray," Brad says quietly when he's finished. "I'm sorry about your grandfather."

"Eh." Ray shrugs. "He passed last year -" he waves off the condolences about to fall from Brad's mouth, "but it's fine, he was really getting up there, and he wasn't all there in the end besides, you know?"

Brad nods and starts clearing their plates. After a second he says, "That's still a gay-ass car."

Ray balls up his napkin and whips it at Brad's head, but Brad, the bastard, catches it and flings it back at him. Ray ducks, then scoops the napkin up from the floor before Mr. Fluffy can rip it into a thousand tiny pieces. "Thanks for letting me crash, man."

Brad nudges on the water in the sink. Ray sees his shoulders tense and then relax beneath the thin t-shirt. "About that," Brad says haltingly, over the sound of the running water as he starts rinsing plates, "I was thinking about it today at work, and if you haven't found a place that suits your needs, you could stay here. If you wanted. At least for the semester, and then I'll help you look for an apartment after that." 

"Dude," Ray mutters, blinking at the shift of Brad's back.

"I would of course understand if it's not an appropriate environment for Mr. Fluffy," Brad continues. He flashes Ray what's probably supposed to be a smile but looks more like a confused grimace. "However, I have seen no bugs at all today, and there are usually bugs. Therefore, I am assuming the cat has eaten them, which is a point in his favor."

"Dude. You want us to stay here so the cat will be your exterminator?" This is the most Brad thing Ray has possibly ever heard, and it's great. Mr. Fluffy winds himself around Ray's feet and meows, so Ray picks him up. "What do you think, cat? Is it cool at Brad's?"

" _And_ it would be nice to have someone here to control the thermostat when I can't be home," Brad says. He finishes loading the dishes into the washer and turns, wiping his hands on a towel as he does. "I promise not to bother you while you're doing homework," he adds with an actual smile.

"I'm sure there will come a point where I will pay you to distract me from homework," Ray laughs. "Sure, as long as you're okay with it, staying here would be great. All the decent listings I found today said no cats, and Mr. Fluffy and I have been through a lot together, I would hate to leave him in the woods."

Mr. Fluffy makes a noise like he's offended by this and squirms to be set down. Ray watches Brad watch this, amusement clear on his face, before Brad lifts his gaze to Ray's again. Ray says, "Hook me up with a rent number, or give me a bill to pay, okay?"

Brad starts to shake his head. Ray points at him. "No, I'll at least pay something, you're not gonna let me stay here for free."

"Fine." He tosses the towel back onto the counter. "Let me look at the bills and I'll get you a number."

"Great." 

"And you tell me the Mr. Fluffy story."

"Mmm, no," Ray mutters, shaking his head. It's not that he doesn't want to tell Brad eventually, just - not right now. Definitely not right now, minutes after Brad's offered to let him stay. Not that he thinks Brad will kick them out, only that things would immediately be awkward. And Ray is tired of awkward, so it's best for right now to not say anything at all. He looks up again to see Brad's gaze fixed on his face, expression contemplative.

"Well, you'll tell me someday?" 

"Someday," Ray says.

Brad smiles and squeezes Ray's shoulder as he goes past. "Come on, let's go for a run."

*

When Ray shuffles into the kitchen on Saturday morning, Brad is at the table with the newspaper in one hand and some sort of egg sandwich in the other. "Good morning, Ray," he says without looking up from whatever article he's reading.

Ray's still groggy with sleep, and it takes him a second to make more than a grumbly noise. "You feed the cat?"

"I did indeed provide Mr. Fluffy with his required kibble." Brad turns his head to look at the cat, perched on the chair next to him. Ray can barely see him over the line of the table. Mr. Fluffy ignores both of them, fixed on some probably imaginary spot on the floor. "There are still some eggs in the pan, if you want them."

"Thanks. There coffee?"

"Mm-hmm." Brad returns to his paper as Ray assembles something like breakfast. They pass several minutes in silence, and Ray is finally starting to feel more awake when Brad asks, "Plans for today?"

"I gotta go clothes shopping," Ray groans. At Brad's cocked eyebrow, he continues, "I need a suit and some other business fucking casual crap. And boxers."

Brad makes no attempt to hide his pointed look at Ray's thin cheap t-shirt and shorts. "Fuck off about my pajamas," Ray says, and drinks more coffee. "Just because you probably sleep in your BDUs, ready to jump up and start the day…" he trails off to eat; it's really too early to make fun of Brad in any coherent fashion. He wouldn't tell Brad that, though.

Brad goes back to his paper without comment. His own plate is empty, but he shows no signs of moving from the table. He's dressed in cargo shorts and a v-necked tee, both the same shade of boring greyish blue. "You look like something a midwestern lady would paint her house," Ray says without even thinking. 

Slowly, the paper lowers enough for Brad to glower at him over the top of it. "That was horrible, Ray," he says after glaring for a while. "Where are you going shopping?"

Ray shrugs and finishes his breakfast.

"There's a mall. We could go there together, if that's acceptable; I need to get a few things." The paper goes back up. "Besides, I don't trust you not to look for menswear at Wal-Mart."

"Fuck you, man, Wal-Mart doesn't -" he stops when he sees the paper fluttering slightly. Brad is laughing at him. "Can we get Auntie Anne's?"

There's a definite pause before Brad says, "The pretzels? Are you five?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

Ray slurps the rest of the coffee from his mug. "Sweet. I'm going to get dressed."

Brad doesn't reply. Ray makes a point of putting _all_ of their dishes carefully in the sink, then goes to the bathroom to scrub his face and teeth. Hopefully there's a Walgreen's on the way; he's nearly out of toothpaste. 

Mr. Fluffy trails along behind him the few steps to his room, then jumps on the bed. Ray rubs his soft head for a few seconds before turning to look for whatever's relatively clean. "I really do need boxers," he whispers to the cat. Mr. Fluffy curls up on the pillow and stares at him. "You know you're worse than Brad out there," Ray says, continuing to whisper.

"Ray, do you need shoes?" Brad yells from somewhere else in the house.

"Yes!" Dress shoes were not high on the essentials list upon leaving, but Ray's sure his bank account can handle a day of shopping. The suits will probably be more than he's ever spent on clothes before, though. He changes quickly into shorts and a t-shirt that's probably too gross for life anymore and should go in the garbage. Yeah, shopping is a sad necessity today.

Brad eyes him when he gets to the foyer to jam his feet in his lone pair of shitty flip-flops, but doesn't comment on Ray's attire. "We can take my truck," he says instead, spinning his keys around on one finger. "Ready?"

Ray pats his pocket to make sure he's got wallet and phone. "Yep."

"Then we're oscar mike." He says it without seeming to even think about his choice of words. Ray follows him out of the house and to the driveway, where Brad's extended cab monstrosity is parked next to Samantha. The Yaris looks tiny in comparison. 

"This neighborhood seems pretty quiet," Ray offers once they've backed out. Brad's house is actually one of the nicer-looking homes on the street. Not that people don't seem to keep up with them, but Ray knows that between weather and age, there's an almost inevitable slide towards, well. Shabbiness is the best word he can come up with for it. At least nobody's got any trucks up on blocks that he can see. 

Brad says little on the drive. Ray is content to watch the route and make note of various businesses along the way. It's barely past ten when Brad parks outside the Macy's end of the mall, and there are hardly any cars in the lot. "It'll get busy after twelve," Brad says, unbuckling. "If you want to start here, I'll go run my errands, and come back to find you?"

"Sure," Ray says with a shrug.

"There's another menswear store in the actual mall, but they only carry clothes, not shoes or anything else."

"Macy's is fine, Brad," Ray assures him as they get out of the truck. "I'll text you if I go somewhere else."

Brad nods. He goes left once they're inside the store, and Ray looks up at the various signs along the ceiling to find his way to the menswear department. As long as they offer some of the things he found on the website, this shouldn't take him forever. He's quick to locate a bored-looking sales guy leaning against one of the register stations. "Hey, man. Can you help me out?"

Sales guy's name is Colin, and he knows exactly where almost all of the suits on Ray's list are. He leads Ray quickly around the department, making small talk as they go. He's tall and red-haired, and he's dressed in one of the suits Ray was planning to look at. Ray's not sure he can make it look as classy as Colin does, no matter what shirt and tie he gets to go with. 

"You sure came prepared, Ray," Colin says, flipping through jackets on a rack with long, quick fingers. He flashes Ray a smile and Ray feels himself turn a little pink. "Makes it easy."

"Wasn't looking to spend hours shopping, you know?" Ray follows him to a dressing room, where Colin hangs everything they picked up on racks and says he'll be right outside in case Ray needs him to fetch a different size of anything or wants a second opinion. "Thanks."

The navy suit he was already sure he was going to get as long as it fit, so it's only a matter of making sure it hangs correctly. Ray makes faces at himself in the mirror as he does up the buttons on the shirt and slips into the jacket. He fiddles with the collar for a second, then walks out. "I think this one is a definite yes?"

Colin is nodding. "You're hitting it out of the park."

Ray laughs and feels himself turn even more red. "With this shirt?"

"That shirt's good, but…" He looks Ray over for a few seconds. "Let me go grab something that I think might work better. Don't go anywhere."

"I won't," Ray chuckles, feeling a little breathless. He tries to ignore it as he ducks back into the dressing room. The last time a guy flirted with him, he'd been out with Wes, and Wes had reacted terribly, staring coldly at the guy until he melted back into the crowd, before turning the same cold stare on Ray. Then he started a screaming fight with Ray on the way home, loud enough to rattle the windows of the car. A fight that was about nothing concrete Ray'd done, just about Wes's own goddamned jealousy.

That was the beginning of the end, for Ray at least. He shakes off the memory as Colin knocks on the door and hands over a checked shirt on a hanger. "I know it's a pattern," he calls, "but trust me, it works with that suit."

"I'll try it on," Ray calls back.

It does work with the suit, better than the plain shirt Ray was wearing. He opens the door for Colin to see. "What tie do I wear with this?"

"Another pattern," Colin says, with a definite grin. He holds out a dark blue tie, a plaid that Ray can only describe as barely-there. It's already knotted for Ray to slip on. "Again, trust me. It's subtle."

He reaches out and carefully drops the tie over Ray's head, then slides the knot up into position. Ray is terrified for a second that Brad will come back early and walk in, but when Colin's warm hands drop away, they're still the only people in the dressing area. "See? Subtle," Colin says.

He's right; it basically makes the outfit. "Okay, I'm sold on all of this," Ray says, "but the next dilemma is this: do I need a lighter-colored suit? Is that what dudes wear here?"

Colin makes an 'either or' sort of gesture. "If you were buying in April or May, I would probably push a little harder for a lighter-colored suit, but since we're heading towards somewhat cooler weather -" here he makes an apologetic face, like Ray's from Minnesota or something, "you could really go either way. The gray cotton you grabbed is nice, but it's going to wear different than these other fabrics. And since you said you're not sure what you're actually going to be doing for - business school internships, was it?"

Ray nods. 

"Then I would try on the black three-piece before worrying about the lighter ones. Especially if you're not looking to spend a couple grand all in one go today. Not that I don't think you could pull off the tan plaid, because I really think you could, Ray."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, man," Ray says, hoping that sounds breezy enough that Colin doesn't realize Ray knows he's flirting. "I'll try on the black one, thanks."

The black suit has a vest, which makes Ray feel like he's getting ready to be in a wedding or something, but since he's not sure how dressed up he's going to have to get, he's willing give it a shot. "You can always skip the vest," Colin says as Ray comes out of the dressing room, "or leave off the jacket and wear just the vest."

"This shirt okay?" It's a plain white dress shirt, and Colin picked a lime green tie.

"Yes."

Ray smooths the vest down slightly, eyeing himself in the full-length mirror. "Cool. I'm sold. Thanks, man. I'll get these two for now. There anybody I should ask for in the shoe department?"

"Andre. He legitimately will not let you leave the store until you're in the shoes you need. I'll go start ringing these up for you, all right?" He smiles at Ray again and closes the dressing room door behind him.

Ray changes back into his ratty shorts and hangs everything up neatly. When he gets to the register, Colin has slipped a bag over the navy suit. He slides one over the black suit after Ray hands it to him, pausing to do the weird Macy's thing of scanning the label and putting another sticker across the barcode. The shirts and ties he folds between layers of tissue paper before boxing. "Don't want it to end up all wrinkled in a bag," he says to Ray. "Ready for the damages?"

Ray only winces slightly at the total and hands over his credit card. "Thanks for the help, I really appreciate not having to figure all this shit out by myself," he says as he signs the slip. "If I end up needing another suit, I'll be back."

"Looking forward to it," Colin replies. His fingers seem to linger as he passes all of Ray's bags around the counter, then he gives a small wave as Ray heads for shoes.

He asks the nearest salesperson in shoes for Andre, and is directed to a middle-aged black guy with a high and tight. "Colin sent me over," Ray says, and Andre nods and asks to see Ray's suits. Then he looks at Ray's feet in the shitty flip-flops for a second, and disappears into a back room. When he comes back, he's got four carefully balanced boxes.

"You military, sir?" he asks as he hands Ray a pair of disposable socks, because Ray's a dumbass who forgot to wear socks to go shoe shopping. 

"Been out a couple years." Ray looks up to see Brad approaching them. "This dude's my team leader."

"Your shopping endeavor appears successful, Ray," Brad says, stopping next to the chair Ray's sitting in. He's got a Champs bag that looks way bigger than socks and shoelaces would call for. Ray wonders if he bought out the store's entire stock; he wouldn't put it past Brad to do something like that.

"Unfortunately I'm not done," Ray replies with a grimace. "This is Andre, he's a shoe wizard. How about you, Andre? You military?"

"I was in the Army for Desert Storm. Miserable place, Iraq. You couldn't pay me to go back there. I liked the Army, but." He shakes his head, then gestures to the wingtips Ray's got on. "How about these, are they comfortable?"

Fifteen minutes later, Ray has two pairs of dress shoes and Andre's recommendation for running shoes, as well as the best guy to talk to at Foot Locker. Brad shakes his head, laughing, as Ray gathers all his bags. "I left you alone for an hour and you made friends," he says. "Amazing."

"It's my superpower, dude. Can we put this in your truck? Then I need a couple casual shirts. You don't have to hang around, if you don't want to."

"It's fine," Brad replies. "Here, I'll take all of this out, and meet you back by the shirts."

Ray's got a couple lightweight hooded pullovers in hand and is flicking through a rack of checkered button-downs when Brad comes back. "You like this color?" he asks, holding up one that's got some dark shade of purple opposite the white. "Wait, why am I asking your monochrome self."

Brad's eyebrows go up, then he shakes his head. "You do have a point, Ray," he murmurs, and Ray laughs and adds the checkered shirt in multiple color options to his armload of stuff to try on. Brad trails behind him as he heads for the fitting rooms, but gets distracted by a rack of Nike workout clothes. "I'll just - be here," he calls as Ray keeps walking. "Unless you want a second opinion?"

"Uh, if you want to?"

Brad's standing there when Ray opens the fitting room door to look at himself in one of the full-length mirrors. "Is this business casual?" he asks, straightening the sleeves of the checkered shirt, this one with a dark green. 

"I wear BDUs every day," Brad replies in a dry voice. He looks Ray over critically. "Are you getting an extra suit jacket?"

Ray squints at himself in the mirror. "I probably should." 

"I can't believe you have to wear suits to class," Brad says, shaking his head. 

"Just the first day. Then I can wear shit like this with khakis, probably."

"Do you _own_ khakis?"

"No," Ray sighs. He should have made a list instead of browsing the Macy's website.

Brad rolls his eyes. "What size?"

Ray gives his pant size and Brad stomps off for several minutes while Ray tries on the rest of his shirts. "Ray," he calls through the door and, when Ray opens it, hands over four different brands of khakis. "Lunch?"

"Uh, sure."

"Then hurry up."

"Shut up, Brad," Ray mutters under his breath, and hears Brad laughing outside the door. He tries on the various pairs of pants and keeps the two he likes the best. 

Brad is leaning against the wall when he goes out. "Good?"

"Yeah. At the very least, I can wait until next weekend to come buy an extra suit jacket. Thanks." 

Socks and boxers are easily grabbed off the shelf. Ray checks out at yet another register, and they put this load of purchases in Brad's truck before going out into the actual mall. As they pass a jewelry store, Brad says, "Do you have a watch?"

Ray has a perfectly serviceable watch that he got at Kmart. The band is a little scuffed, but the face is clean, and it still does what it's supposed to. "I'm not getting a giant calculator watch, Brad."

"Don't you have to do math in these classes?" Brad asks, keeping a completely straight face, even though Ray _knows_ he's fucking around. Then the corner of his mouth quirks a little. 

Ray feels justified in socking him lightly in the arm. "You mentioned lunch?"

"There's a Ruby Tuesday, if you want a sit-down place; otherwise there's the food court."

Ray widens his eyes, solely for the dramatic effect. "Auntie Anne's?"

Brad groans and aims them in the direction of the food court. Ray gets two pretzel dogs, feeling as though it's an acceptable reward after a morning spent trying on clothes. "You're not actually going to lecture me about food choices, are you," he says to Brad, side-eyeing him before taking a bite.

"You're a civilian. I am merely going to make fun of your food choices." Brad strides off towards one of the sandwich shops.

Ray finds a table and sips his cherry lemonade until Brad returns, bearing a tray with some sort of toasted sub on it and a bag of chips. "You get all your socks and shoelaces?" Ray asks. 

"Yes." 

"That looked like a lot of socks."

Brad takes a bite of his sandwich, then stares at Ray while he chews. Ray finishes his pretzel dogs and watches people wander around the food court, getting Cinnabon. Ray would get Cinnabon if he didn't think Brad would pontificate at length about the number of chemicals in it.

"Do we need to stop for more cat food?" Brad asks after a few minutes.

"Hmm, probably not a bad idea."

"Did you get all your books and that sort of shit?"

"It's only three classes a semester, so thankfully I didn't have to take out a bank loan just for books, but I still need to buy the computer program they want us to use for Financial Management." He shrugs and rattles the ice in his cup. "School is expensive as a motherfucker, man. At least the G.I. Bill paid for my undergrad."

Brad snorts and opens his bag of chips. He offers some to Ray, then asks, "You going to get those running shoes?"

"Yeah, if this Foot Locker has them."

Ray finishes his lemonade and Brad finishes his chips, and they escape the food court right as a family with several wailing children rolls in with two strollers, and Brad's eyes go wide with what Ray is pretty sure is fear. "Come on, Mr. Mom," he says to Brad. "Hopefully no one's crying in Foot Locker."

Brad makes a face that Ray is sure means _Don't make me make_ you _cry in Foot Locker_ , and walks quickly away. Ray laughs and hurries after him. He gets the shoes Andre recommended and some socks, much to Brad's amusement. 

"I think I should probably get a messenger bag for all my shit," he says when they're back in the truck and heading towards Target for cat food.

"It would likely be in your best interests not to attend the first day of school with that trail pack you brought." Brad signals his turn and rolls into the parking lot.

"I've had that thing like six years now," Ray says, counting back in his head. "It's been through a lot with me."

Brad glances over, and this time his expression is one Ray's not sure how to decipher. "Is there a lot of hiking in Nevada?"

"There's enough."

Brad puts the car in park and turns off the engine. "Ray..."

Ray gets his hand on the door, ready to hurry into the store and leave Brad in his dust, as Brad says quietly, "If you don't want me to ask why you left Missouri and came to school here, I won't. But you didn't do a very good job of hiding the fact that you didn't bring much with you."

"I didn't bring much with me," Ray answers, the words halting. "Figured I could get what I needed once I made sure school was a go for sure. So thanks for not asking."

He opens the door and gets out. Brad follows along behind him, but doesn't say anything more on the subject, only making the occasional disgusted noise at some of the more excessive store displays. Ray gets Mr. Fluffy's preferred brand, and picks up a plain dark canvas messenger bag from the men's section. Brad wanders off towards the Starbucks kiosk as Ray checks out, but doesn't get anything, only stands there pretending to read the menu until Ray nudges him with the cat food. "You getting something or are you composing a treatise on the evils of corporate coffee?"

"On the contrary, Ray, Starbucks as a business is an attractive corporate culture," Brad says, smiling widely to signify that he knows the words coming out of his mouth are complete bullshit, and he knows Ray knows he's bullshitting. 

Ray shifts the bag to his other arm. "Did you know that between 1987 and 2007, Starbucks opened an average of two new stores a day?" 

Brad shakes his head. Ray continues. "Did you also know that as an undergrad, I wrote like three goddamned papers on Starbucks? If I never have to study that company again it'll be too soon."

The barista behind the counter is now staring at them and trying not to laugh. "Come on, Brad," Ray says. He winks at the barista; she laughs outright. "If you need coffee I got you some French roast from here the other day."

As they're pulling into the driveway back at the house, Ray asks, "How come you don't live on base?"

Brad affects an expression of complete disgust. "One, there are far too many people on base that I would prefer not to interact with during my non-work hours. Two, I'm not an E-5 anymore. _Or_ twenty-five."

Ray starts grabbing bags out of the backseat. "What does age have to do with your social anxiety disorder?" 

Brad gives him a bored look and grabs the rest of the bags and the cat food.

Mr. Fluffy meows incessantly as they walk in, and winds himself around Ray's ankles after Ray kicks off his flip-flops. "If I trip on you and fall down and die, you're going to be stuck with Brad. Is that really what you want?" Ray asks the cat, carrying his purchases down the hall to his room. "Is it?"

Mr. Fluffy jumps on the bed and licks his butt in reply. 

"That's what I thought," Ray mutters. He hangs the suits carefully in the closet, leaving them in the protective plastic bags for now.

"Are you talking to the cat again?" Brad asks, appearing in the open doorway.

"Yeah, so?" 

Brad rolls his eyes and holds out an American Eagle bag in Ray's direction.

"What's this?" Ray asks, taking it. Inside is a pullover hoodie, striped in gray, cranberry, and yellow, with a big gray kangaroo pocket. "You bought me a hoodie?"

"I thought you might need something to wear on the weekends that isn't a ratty old t-shirt," Brad replies, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. The _you didn't bring much_ remains unspoken this time, which Ray appreciates. "Besides, I seem to remember _someone_ wearing a hooded sweatshirt in the fucking _desert_ , of all places. So."

"Thanks, man." Ray holds up the hoodie and grins. "This is ugly as hell and I fucking love it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Brad straightens up and taps the doorframe. "Excellent. I'm going for a run now, are you interested in joining me? I only do five miles on Saturdays."

"Running sounds delightful," Ray deadpans. "But really, I need to do this stats refresher course so I avoid looking like a moron next week."

Brad opens his mouth as though he's going to opine on Ray looking like a moron every day - Ray left himself wide open for that one, so he deserves it - but instead nods and turns to go to his own room. Mr. Fluffy jumps down from the bed and hurries after him. "Cat, you're a traitor!" Ray calls, and Brad's laughter echoes down the hallway.

*

So-called random matching pairs Ray with a guy who did a tour in Afghanistan in the Army as his roommate for the overnight portion of base camp. Brandon's tall and looks too skinny for the Army, and his coloring reminds Ray of nothing more than a stalk of wheat, but his handshake is firm. They spend an hour trading Afghanistan stories before even deciding who gets which narrow dormitory bed for the night.

"I really doubt it was fair for us to team up on this," Brandon mutters the next day, as Ray hops nimbly down from the final stump-crossing portion of the cheesy low ropes course they all had to navigate. The stumps aren't even six inches off the ground; Ray could do this with his eyes closed, maybe even asleep. "Also, I'm pretty sure it's poor form for me to want to laugh at some of our classmates. They're all nice people, yeah?"

"I guess this shit really isn't for everyone," Ray mutters back, before he jogs back to the start of the section to lend his arm to Gabriella, who informed them all during introductions that she was expecting her first child, but she was still game for the course. 

"Thanks, Ray," she says. She steps smoothly from one log to the next - the gaps between them are almost negligible, and forget sleep, Ray could possibly do this in a _coma_ \- and jumps down at the end. "Ugh, lame."

"I think our long nightmare is finally over," Ray says, chuckling. "You were the last one, and we all made it through the whole obstacle course. No casualties."

Brandon hears him and starts laughing. "That's going to be my motto for this whole program."

"Bro, you and me both," Ray tells him. 

Tom waves his hand to get everyone's attention. "Now that you're all good and acquainted, not to mention well-versed in what we'll be expecting of you over the next two years - you're free to head home. Dr. Holland will see you at two o'clock on Monday, first floor of the Marcus building." 

They all still have to get their stuff from the dorm, so Ray walks back with Brandon and Chad, the guy who'd been in the room next to theirs. Chad's introduction had been along the lines of "I know this nametag says Chadwell, but that's my father's name, _please_ call me Chad," in the long-suffering voice of someone who has long gone by a name different than the official roster. 

"You're from Missouri, right, Ray?" Chad asks as Brandon swipes the guest card to unlock the main doors of the building. "How'd you end up here?"

"Got tired of Missouri, pretty much," Ray replies. "And this place was almost as cheap as in-state tuition, so I figured, why not try somewhere new for a while?"

"So you moved without knowing anybody? I couldn't do that." Chad makes a confused face. "I'd probably get lost, for starters. My wife's gotta navigate us everywhere."

Ray laughs at that. "That's what GPS is for, man. Nah, my old sergeant from the Corps is stationed at Benning, he's letting me stay in his spare room until I find an apartment here, so there's one person I know. And now I know you guys, so that's three. That's enough for a band."

Brandon snorts, shaking his head. "You definitely don't want me in your band. I can't carry a tune, much less play an instrument."

"Inside every man, there is a rock star only waiting for his moment to shine," Ray says solemnly. "Sometimes, though, it only happens in the shower."

"If I sang in the shower, my fiancee would straight-up murder me," Brandon sighs, and swipes open their door.

Ray stops at the grocery store on his way back to Brad's, because he needs beer and Brad's fridge had been a sad and beer-less wasteland when Ray left. He gets a sandwich from the deli and eats it sitting in the car, thumbing through emails. Most of it's Barkdale stuff, and a funny comic from his mom, but then there's one from Wes without a subject line.

Ray deletes it without even opening it and puts the phone back in his messenger bag. He turns the radio up extra-loud for the rest of the drive.

Mr. Fluffy is perched on the arm of the couch when Ray opens the front door to the house. He ignores Ray completely as Ray struggles to get all his shit inside without making more than the one trip from the car. "What, you're not going to help?" Ray asks, setting his messenger bag carefully down onto the floor. 

Mr. Fluffy continues to stare in the opposite direction, clearly punishing Ray for leaving him alone overnight with Brad. "I know he fed you, he sent me a picture of the mess you made with the dry food," Ray calls over his shoulder as he walks down the hall to his bedroom, shaking out the suit jacket as he goes. He's going to have to figure out drycleaning in this town.

He hangs the jacket up neatly in the closet, then grabs the nearest pair of shorts and starts changing. As he's unbuttoning his shirt, he hears the front door open, then Brad calling his name. "I'm changing, I'll be out in a sec," Ray yells back.

"How was it?" Brad yells, clearly ignoring the _wait a second_ Ray feels was implied in his response.

He goes out of the bedroom still yanking a t-shirt down over his head and nearly runs into Brad. Brad catches him by the elbow, then raises both eyebrows and says, "Well?"

"Can't a guy get dressed, damn, Brad," Ray mutters, smoothing the t-shirt over his chest. Brad stares at him. "It was - well, _fine_ is too boring a word, but parts of it were also boring, and I get why we have to do all those stupid icebreaker exercises _but_ it's still awkward as hell when you make a bunch of adults do them."

"Did you have to do trust falls?" Brad asks, his lack of inflection making it less a question and more a terrible joke at Ray's expense.

"No, shut up." Ray makes a face. He notices that there's dried mud on Brad's BDU's, spatters on the wrists of the blouse. Brad's hands are clean, though.

Ray looks up and Brad smirks at him. "Beer?" Brad asks. "I did buy some yesterday, and it's cold."

"God, yes, since I'm sure what I stopped to get this afternoon is still disgustingly warm. Can we quit standing in the hallway like weirdos?" 

He ducks around Brad to head for the kitchen and Brad says, "Be right there, I need to get these BDUs in the wash."

Ray finds the cold beer in the back of the fridge and uncaps two bottles, then takes a mouthful of one as he retrieves his messenger bag from the floor. Mr. Fluffy looks up as Ray sets the bag next to him on the couch, and he allows Ray to pet his head gently for a second before jumping down and sauntering away. "If you're going by Brad, cat, I'm still calling you a traitor," Ray warns him.

He takes his laptop out and plugs it in to recharge, then starts to organize the thousand informational packets and fliers he'd been handed over the last three days. Brad walks in with his beer and eyes the papers. "Do you want to use the kitchen table for that?" he asks. "I can move the mail."

"No, I'm fine - unless you want me to use the kitchen table," Ray hurries to say, realizing there are now piles all over the coffee table, and maybe Brad wants to put his bottle down. "I can move this stuff, hold on."

"It's fine. Really, Ray." Brad circles around the couch and sits down on the other side of Ray's bag. He watches without speaking as Ray pages through stuff, sorting it into internship-related and class-related and general program-related. "Aside from the awkward trust falls, how'd it go?"

Ray shrugs. "They told us everything that we're going to be doing over the next two years, basically. Which is good, that way everyone knows what the expectations are. Uh, met a lot of people. There's about twenty-five of us per class, and everybody had to do an introduction, which I guess is a good thing because then you've got a couple details to make small talk with later."

"And what did you say?"

"Said I was in the Corps for a while, served in a couple wars, worked in IT afterward while I got my degree."

"It took you a while to get your bachelor's," Brad says, his voice sounding almost carefully neutral, and Ray reminds himself that while they'd kept in touch a little, it wasn't the sort of keeping in touch where you really know what the other person is doing at all. 

"Yeah, I worked full-time while I took classes, and I actually -" he stops to clear his throat and take another drink of his beer, "I transferred halfway through, so there were a couple classes I had to take over again since they didn't transfer, and that make it take even longer." He reaches for his beer and drains half of it in one go.

Brad picks at the label on his bottle for a second. "Why'd you transfer?"

Ray turns to slide some of the paperwork back into his bag. His throat feels a little tight. "The person I was living with took a better job, one that paid a lot more, far enough away that I couldn't commute." 

His heart pounds as he waits for Brad to ask about Ray's lack of pronouns, but Brad only drinks more of his beer for another few seconds before he says, "Sucks that you had to take classes over again."

"Yeah, that part wasn't fun, I definitely cursed some people out over that shit."

Mr. Fluffy jumps up on the arm of the couch next to Brad, who looks at the cat for a second before patting his head twice and asking Ray, "What were you doing for work? Networking, right?"

Ray snorts. "After we moved, I worked third shift keeping the fucking internet running for a bunch of hotels in the Ozarks, basically. And their in-house networking shit, yeah, troubleshooting and that stuff, but unofficially, I was there to make sure the customers could look at interracial bondage porn at two in the fucking morning. Pay was decent, though."

Brad laughs and drains his beer. "You want another?" he asks, pointing his bottle at Ray's.

"Sure." He hands Brad his empty, then scoops his computer up from the floor. 

"You got homework already?" Brad calls on his way to the kitchen.

Ray opens the laptop and waits for the screen to wake up. "I still gotta finish the fucking stats refresher," he says, typing in his password. "One module left." 

"Should have got the calculator watch, Ray!" Brad yells back.

*

Brad is usually gone by the time Ray gets up in the morning and the house is quiet and still, dust motes sparkling in the sunlight that filters through the windows. Mr. Fluffy likes to stretch out in the warm squares of light, ignoring Ray's lectures on how he really needs to get a job besides killing the bugs that apparently make Brad cranky. Ray shuffles around for a little while, drinking the coffee left in the pot and eating cereal for breakfast while he does some reading, then he usually does some homework before actually getting ready for school.

Class takes up most of the afternoon, even though they have only a single class per day. Ray usually hits the library for a while after that to get in some reading without distractions, or else he meets up with a couple classmates in one of the study rooms to go over problem sets. 

Most nights he gets home earlier than Brad does, and exchanges the stupid business casual wear for PT gear. He runs a few miles, the exact number usually depending on the evening's temperature - less at first, when it's still almost painfully hot and sticky enough that running in it feels like he has to actually push through the air, and more as the nights get cooler. It's a good way to think about his homework problems before actually sitting down to work on them. 

After his run, he showers and gets into pajama pants and one of his hoodies before wandering to the kitchen to feed Mr. Fluffy and make himself a sandwich or omelet or whatever for dinner. Brad usually comes in while Ray's futzing with the stove and goes straight to his room to change, then disappears on his racing bike for a while if the sun's still up.

Tonight, Ray's stirring his scrambled eggs and wondering if kids come trick-or-treating around here and how much candy he could possibly pressure Brad into buying, when he hears the garage door. But Brad doesn't come in and Ray doesn't hear the roar of the bike. 

"Come out here, Ray!" Brad calls a few seconds later.

Ray sighs down at his nearly-done eggs and turns off the burner. Brad is standing in front of Ray's Yaris, which is parked to the right of the open garage door. "Samantha has a flat tire," Brad says, and Ray sighs again, because _goddamnit_. 

Brad raises an eyebrow. "No spare?"

"No spare. She was fine on the drive home from campus; I must have run over something close to here." He bends over to look at the clearly-flat tire and his stomach rumbles.

Brad drops to his knees, running a hand over the rubber. "Ah. Here." His face scrunches up as he yanks something from the tire. "Here's your culprit."

He holds up a mangled square concrete nail. Ray leans against his now out-of-comission car and grimaces. _Fuck_. Brad looks the nail over for a few seconds, says, "There's a tire place a few blocks from here, but it's closed for the night. You can take my truck tomorrow, if you want. I'll ride the bike to work."

"What, you don't trust me with the bike?" Ray can't help but ask.

Brad stares up at him pointedly for so long that Ray bursts out laughing, and laughs so hard he has to lean against the Yaris. "That was a _joke_ , Brad. A joke! I know you know how to laugh, dude. I will drive the truck, thank you very much for the offer, and I'll go to the tire place right away in the morning before my study group meets and pick up a replacement."

Brad rises from his crouch and waves a hand. "Just use it for the day and I'll help you change the tire tomorrow night. I got Chinese takeout for dinner, you want some? It's New Garden."

"Uh, sure."

Brad gets a large paper bag out of his truck, which leads Ray to believe he'd been planning to share all along, since this is definitely more than Brad's usual order of chicken and broccoli. Ray's scrambled eggs are a watery loss now, anyways, and he scrapes the pan out down the garbage disposal as Brad unpacks containers and takes out plates and silverware. 

"There's that beef with mushrooms thing you like," Brad says, his voice totally fake casual, "and I felt like spareribs, and then since it was over twenty-five dollars, we got free chicken fried rice."

"Thanks." It seems like the easiest thing to say. Plus, Ray's stomach is definitely growling.

Brad finishes spooning rice onto his plate and leans against the opposite counter. He takes a few bites before he says, "You ever get a motorcycle endorsement?"

Ray shakes his head. Brad points the fork at him. "If you want to, I wouldn't mind giving lessons."

"Really?"

Brad gives him a look like that's not worth an answer and continues to eat. "Are you getting a Georgia license?" he asks after a few more minutes, as Ray eats mushrooms right out of the container.

Fuck, Ray hadn't even thought about that. "I guess I better look up what constitutes residency for that shit," he says. 

"You need your Social Security card and at least two things that say you live here."

"I guess it's a good thing you're going to put one of the bills in my name then, right?" Ray asks, giving Brad a pointed look, since Brad has yet to switch over any of the bills. He picks a few of the best-looking spareribs out of the container and takes some of the chicken fried rice. "Right, Brad?"

"I'll call the cable company tomorrow from work," Brad says. He sounds almost glum about it. "Water and sewer is part of the rent, and I paid the electric bill right before you turned up on the doorstep."

"I mean, you _could_ let me pay actual rent."

"Unnecessary, Ray."

Ray shakes his head and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before walking into the living room and sitting down cross-legged on the couch. Mr. Fluffy sniffs Ray's plate, then settles next to him with paws outstretched, and Ray strokes his head for a second before turning his attention to his food. 

Brad follows him out a minute later and looks at Mr. Fluffy in his usual spot, then sits on the loveseat instead. They eat in silence for a while before Brad asks, "Study group, huh?"

"It's on the schedule I put on the fridge," Ray says.

"No, I mean - you meet at the school?"

"Yeah, there are little rooms you can reserve in the library for meetings and stuff."

Brad twists the cap from his own bottle of water. "If you wanted to meet here, it would be fine with me. I mean, you live here too, and if you want to have people over -"

"Brad," Ray cuts him off. "Thanks. But the study rooms have whiteboards and stuff, and usually we need those for math and shit."

"Sure." Brad looks back down at his plate. He seems - Ray's not entirely sure he's reading this right - slightly disappointed that he's been shot down. Maybe he wants to meet Ray's classmates? Friends, they're basically his friends by now; they sometimes talk about things that aren't school.

"But I will remember that it's cool," Ray adds. "Brandon would probably come over to watch basketball; I don't think his fiancee's too into sports."

The cat makes a huffing sort of noise, so Ray scratches his head. "Do you feel left out of the conversation?" he asks Mr. Fluffy. "You'll just hide if people come over anyway, you loser."

Brad snorts. Ray waves his fork at him. "Shut up, Brad, you talk to the cat, too. I heard you on Tuesday asking Mr. Fluffy why he always spills half his food all over the floor before he eats it."

"It was a question I still haven't gotten an answer to," Brad says, narrowing his eyes at Mr. Fluffy.

"Is he making mean faces at you," Ray stage-whispers to the cat, who jumps down from the couch, then up next to Brad on the loveseat before nosing at his arm. 

Brad pats his head awkwardly with the hand not holding his fork, and Ray frowns at them both. "Oh, I see how it is," he says, but secretly, he's pleased that Brad and Mr. Fluffy have been getting along so well. 

"You were right, Ray; he is a pretty chill cat." Brad flashes him an honest-to-God smile. "Oh, hey, I wanted to ask - is the bed in your room okay, or do you want to get a bigger one? Because we can do that."

"My bed's fine," Ray says without thinking about it. "Besides, if I find an apartment next semester or over the summer, why would you want to spend money on another bed? That's stupid."

"If you're sure."

Ray nods. "Yup."

It's not until he's rinsing dishes later that he puts the parts of the conversation together and realizes Brad was probably trying to say that he's cool with Ray having visitors who might also need space in the bed, so to speak. "Oh," Ray huffs, dropping a fork into the sink. "Well."

Mr. Fluffy winds between his feet, meowing. "Still too soon, huh, cat?" Ray asks him. "Me too, buddy."

*

The mouse-looking creature runs across the driveway as Ray steps out of the house, hopping into the grass and skittering away. "Really?" he asks the universe, and stops to watch for more.

After a minute, another one runs across the opposite direction and disappears into the grass, and this time Ray's pretty sure it's a vole, not a mouse. _I think your yard has pests_ , he texts to Brad. 

By the time Ray's made his Target trip for cat things and some newer, less shitty pens, Brad still hasn't responded. Ray figures he can solve this problem himself without investing too much time or energy, only a little bit of cash. He can handle it after class if Brad's still incommunicado.

He's standing in the hose aisle of Home Depot when he wonders if Brad actually does any yard work at all. It seems like something he'd opt out of in favor of longer rides on his bike and Ray hasn't seen him doing any, but then again, the grass isn't overgrown. Maybe he's one of those guys that gets obsessed with the yard if he starts working on it, so he doesn't, and one of the neighborhood kids mows it. Ray could see that. 

He grabs a hose and one of the sprayer things, then stops at the Publix for hot sauce and castor oil. "Critters?" the cashier asks sympathetically, and Ray nods.

Back at the house, he quickly assembles the sprayer and measures in the stuff. The water spout creaks dramatically as he screws the hose end onto it, but doesn't leak or anything when he turns the actual water on. The sprayer fills, mixing everything up, then Ray starts spraying down. He's most of the way done when Brad's truck turns into the driveway. 

"Ray, what are you doing?" Brad calls as he gets out of the vehicle. 

"Spraying down your yard so the goddamn voles move out. It's fucking Rodent City out here, homes."

"What the fuck is a vole?" Brad asks, coming up next to Ray and frowning down at the sprayer in his hand. 

"I'll show you a picture later. It's kind of like a mouse, except it digs little tunnels and shit, and eats your plants. I texted you about it before, but figured maybe you didn't have your phone on or whatever."

"Sorry, I forgot it this morning. These things eat the plants?" Brad asks, his voice sounding like he doesn't put much stock in Ray's critter knowledge. 

"Well yeah, what the fuck do you think yard pests do?" He finishes soaking one section and moves on to the next. "But never fear, your old pal Ray-Ray has now sprayed all their little hidey-holes and burrows with a mixture of fucking jalapeno juice and castor oil.”

"Hot sauce."

"Wow, you are really repeating things here," Ray says, and Brad glares. Ray grins at him. "They don't like the hot sauce. We'll have to spray a few more times, but this should solve the problem. I noticed it this morning, dude, a couple of them ran across the driveway, and then I looked for the holes. I don't really think you've got too bad an infestation."

"I don't want to have to burn the house down." Brad shades his eyes with one hand and looks critically at the yard, the corner of his mouth turned down into a frown. "The property management company handles the lawn stuff, but they're only here every couple of weeks, and usually so early in the morning that they're done before I even leave for work."

That explains the mystery of who cuts the grass. "Well, they clearly haven't been here lately," Ray says, backing up onto the driveway. "I can call them, if you want?"

Brad's nodding. "The number's on one of the cards on the corkboard."

Ray flips off the sprayer, then shuts off the water. Brad stands there watching as he disassembles. "I'm just going to put this all in the garage," Ray explains.

"Sure. Uh, thanks again."

Brad's disappeared into his room when Ray goes inside, but he emerges half an hour later as Ray's trying to get another chapter in before making something to eat. He drops a hand briefly on Ray's shoulder. "How's -" he leans over slightly to see what Ray's reading, "oh, that looks very… dry."

"It is," Ray chuckles. 

"Well, I can make dinner."

Ray looks at him over his shoulder; Brad's already heading toward the fridge. "Really? Thanks."

"You took care of the yard," Brad says with a wave of his hand. "It's no problem."

*

The school holds an internship fair at the very end of September, which leads to several interviews at the beginning of October, and finally to Ray committing ten-to-fifteen hours a week to Sodaco. Which does not make soda, but calendars.

"As well as planners, stationery, about a hundred kinds of printer paper, some other office supplies, and digital versions of nearly all the calendars and planners," Tamara, assistant director of Human Resources, tells Ray as she guides him through a bunch of paperwork and getting an employee ID. "So welcome aboard, and don't hesitate to come knock on my door if there are any issues."

She drops him off with his immediate supervisor, a bearded guy who shakes Ray's hand firmly and says his name is Jay. He leads Ray to a desk in a cubicle, which he says Ray will be sharing with another intern who works opposite days, "but feel free to put up some pictures if you want, we like to give things a personal feel around here. Or try to, at least."

Jay introduces Ray to the rest of the team and gives him a bunch of product descriptions to read over for today. "I know you're only here until noon, so just - get familiar, and then let me or Lisa know when you're punching out."

"You got it. Thanks." Ray settles in with the stack of papers.

At noon, he straightens up the desk, says goodbye, and punches out. There's a text from Brad on his phone when he looks at it on the way to his car. _you didn't call me to bail you out so I guess the internship is ok_

 _everyone seems cool, tell you more after class_ , Ray writes back.

There's also a text from Chad. _yo, location?_

 _leaving work - Panera? I need lunch_. Ray tosses his bag into the passenger seat and starts the car.

_be there in 5_

Chad's at a table in the corner when Ray walks in fifteen minutes later, binder and books in front of him and pen in hand. He looks up as Ray walks over. "Juliet says she'll be here in ten, and we can go over that problem set, if that's cool?"

"That fucking problem set," Ray groans. "Let me get a sandwich quick - you eating?"

Chad waves a cup with something green in it. Ray drops his bag into one of the free chairs and goes to join the line. When he gets back to the table, Chad has cleared off most of his books and papers. "You know we're wearing the same shirt?" he says to Ray.

Ray looks down at his plain, light blue button-down, then at Chad's plain, light blue button-down. "Macy's?"

"Macy's."

"I did have a tie on earlier," Ray informs him, in between bites of his sandwich. "For the morning I spent reading sales reports for full-color annual calendars."

Chad spins the pen between his fingers. "Yeah, how are calendar sales?"

"Ones with kittens sell the best."

"Hmm, I'm skeptical of that, show your work," Chad says, right as Juliet arrives, saying, "Show your work for what? Did you guys start going over homework without me?"

"No, we're just talking about Ray's internship." Chad moves more of his stuff so Juliet can sit down. 

She shrugs out of her thin jacket. "How is it? McDonald's has me reviewing financial statements so far."

"They want me to familiarize myself with the product line to start with," Ray says. "Let me go drop my tray off and we can go over what we got for answers."

Forty-five minutes later, everyone's satisfied with their conclusions and how they arrived at them, and they pack up to head to campus. After class, Ray goes to the library for a while, yawning at a table until he's starving and the words on the page he's trying to read are swimming. 

Brad's at the house when Ray gets there, leaning over something with a tangle of wires on the kitchen table. "Dare I ask what you're building?" Ray says to him, toeing off his shoes by the front door. "Also, I hope that's not a torch, you really shouldn't use one inside."

"It's a soldering pen, you cretin," Brad replies without looking up. 

"Are you building a Terminator?"

Brad puts the soldering pen in its cup, then flips his safety glasses up onto his head. "It's a drone," he says, in the sort of voice Ray figures means he would probably attempt the Terminator given the chance. 

"Sweet, are we spying on the neighbors?"

Brad looks like he hasn't thought of that, and Ray chuckles as heads toward his room to change. 

There's a bag on Ray's bed. "Brad, what's this?" he calls.

Brad appears in the doorway, stretching his arms overhead to touch the frame. "I wanted to say thanks for catching the yard catastrophe."

Ray opens the bag. Inside are two lightweight hoodies in a soft material. "It'll start cooling off a little here soon," Brad says, tone conversational. "Thought you could do with some more weekend clothes."

"You really didn't have to." Ray turns to look at him. "That was nice. Can I give you a hug?"

Brad starts chuckling. "Yeah, yeah, bring it in."

"You're such a dork," Ray says, and hugs him. It's a little strange; the last time he hugged Brad, they were both wearing flak vests and forty pounds of gear. "I'm Skyping with Rudy in a little bit, if you want to say hi."

"Sure." 

Ray eats a sandwich, then slouches on the sofa poking at his homework until it's time for Rudy's call and he can minimize Excel.

“Ray, my man, Namaste,” Rudy says when the call connects. He smiles warmly and waves at the camera. “Have you burned Brad’s house down yet?”

“Not yet,” Brad yells from the table, right as Ray says, “I keep trying, but he’s too quick with the fire extinguisher, you know?”

Rudy laughs, tucking his hair back behind his ears. They’ve been Skyping fairly regularly over the last few years and Ray’s not sure he'll ever used to seeing Rudy with longer hair and a beard; it's weird.

"So what's new, dude?" Ray asks. "You book those speaking engagements?"

"You bet I did, brother," Rudy says, and they fist-bump through the screen. "One in San Diego, and one in Seattle at the end of November. You know I've never been to Washington state?"

"Me, neither. They tell you to bring a raincoat?"

"No, it's not the rainy season right now. Come on, Ray, I thought you were getting educated."

"Ray's education consists of so-called study group at Panera and occasionally pretending to read that _Primal Leadership_ book," Brad butts in, having come into the living room. He leans over Ray's shoulder, close enough that Ray can feel his body heat. "The only thing he's getting is fat from too many breakfast pastries."

"Fuck off, Brad," Ray whines, but he doesn't mean it. He looks up at Brad standing there grinning and scowls at him. "Go work on your drone."

Brad just laughs and waves to Rudy before he wanders off. Ray looks back at the screen to see Rudy also laughing. "What?"

"Glad to see the roommate situation is still working out."

"He's only mean to me some of the time these days," Ray says. "And for the record, my study group meets in the library most of the time, and the library doesn't let us have baked goods in there; they're militant about it and it's very sad."

"Other than that, school's good?"

"They haven't told me I'm flunking out yet." He shrugs. "What's new with you, any new New Age hobbies? You've collected them all by now, right?"

"Just looking for a little peace in the world, my man. Trying to learn all the ways I can to spread light and love," Rudy says. He leans off-camera for a second, then holds up a box with a painted horse on it. "I found a new tarot deck, what do you think? Should I read your cards?"

Ray knows it's not worth trying to say no to Rudy. "All right, let's do it."

Rudy claps his hands together, grinning. "Excellent. Do you have a particular question you're looking for guidance on?"

"Um…" He's not sure.

"It helps to have something to focus on. You don't have to say it out loud, just hold it in your mind," Rudy says. He slides the cards from the box. "And it's less a question and more a clarification, brother, like you're looking for help understanding something, does that make sense?"

"No," Ray says. He can hear Brad laugh softly from the kitchen; there's really not much of a wall between the rooms. "Quiet, Brad!"

Rudy smiles at that and pushes his hair back again. "It'll get clearer as we go along, alright? Bear with me here, though, this deck is still new to me, I'm learning as I go."

"Sure."

"Okay, so first things first." Rudy holds two cards up to the camera. They look to Ray like they have cave paintings on them. "On your left is the Journeyer card, which represents you. On your right is the Companion, which is the link between you, Ray, and the spirit world. You could think of the Companion as a guardian-type angel."

"Rudy, why am I not surprised you believe in guardian angels?" Brad calls.

"We are surrounded by angels, brother," Rudy calls back to him. He puts the two cards down. "So, Ray, since you're not here in person to choose your own card from each tribe - that's the other five sets, each called a tribe - I'm going to shuffle them while you decide which number, one through ten, that you want, and I will take that card from the tribe. Sound good?"

"Sure, let's do it." Ray's never been one for much of this mystical stuff, but he'll browse through the websites and articles Rudy sends along via email, and he totally tried some of the meditation techniques the last few weeks of living with Wes in an attempt to not go crazy. They helped, a little.

"Remember, this isn't fortune-telling. It's a way to help you focus your intentions."

"Aye-aye," Ray says, and Rudy shakes his head, laughing under his breath. 

"This tarot is laid out like the digits on your hand, each representing a tribe and also a spiritual place," Rudy explains, wiggling his fingers at Ray. "The thumb is the first tribe, Tribe of the Ancestors, representing the Cave of the Earth, because we have all come from the Earth. What number card do you want?"

Ray goes with the first number to come into his head. "Four."

"The Ancestor of Tribes," Rudy says, holding up the card. Ray can't quite make out what the cave art is supposed to be. Maybe a deer or an antelope. "You've made a number of friends in Columbus so far, right, Ray?"

"Yeah, I've found some good folks in my program."

"Then this is an excellent card for you, my brother. It represents an end to isolation, represents community and family. You and I both know that family isn't always those we're related to by blood, yeah?" Ray nods at this, and Rudy continues. "This can also represent support and help without ties, so like, people helping others without expecting anything in return, and doing so out of goodness and friendship, not because they feel duty-bound by familial shit."

"That sounds pretty good to me," Ray admits.

Rudy smiles widely. "Awesome. The Hunter is next, Cave of the Rivers. This card is the focus of strategy and strength, and it should remind you of the things that you're seeking in life, because you're good at finding ways to get there - finding the strategy. Ready?"

"Three."

Rudy holds up a card with what seems to be a caveperson atop a downed animal. "The Hunter of Abundance. This doesn't mean having a lot in a material sense, like owning shit -"

"Good, because I don't."

"- but in an emotional sense." Rudy gives him a look. "Interpretations of this card include strength of purpose, resourcefulness, sharing, and love. Don't you think those feelings fit well into your life, given what the previous card also showed us?" 

"So…" He thinks about it for a second. "There's enough Ray to go around."

"That's what I'm seeing so far. Remember when you and Brad spent all that money fixing up your victor?"

"Five hundred eighty-seven dollars and ninety-three cents," Brad calls, reminding Ray that he's still close enough to hear everything Ray and Rudy are saying.

"Resourcefulness and sharing, even when you were young and had other shit you wanted to spend money on besides paint," Rudy says with a smile. "The energy you put out into the world returns to you tenfold, a hundredfold, even. I try to live by that every day." He lays the card down next to the other one. "Moving on? Next up: the Cave of Hearthfires and the Tribe of Dancers, which represent energy and expression."

"One," Ray says.

Rudy lifts the first card in the small stack. "The Dancer of Friendship. I think we've struck a theme, don't you? Let me read you what the book says the interpretations are."

Ray can't help but laugh a little. "Sure, go ahead."

"Strength in unity. Advice and trust. Companionship. Community. Fellow journeyers. Honesty."

"What does honesty have to do with a bunch of synonyms for friendship?" Ray asks, then realizes immediately that it was sort of a dumb question. He scratches a hand through his hair. It's getting a little long, he needs to find a barber. 

"Why would you lie to those you trust?" Rudy asks in response. "That's not trusting them. It's hard to build community when there's nothing but disharmony and distrust between the members." He puts the card down and looks at Ray curiously. "Your friends in the program, have they trusted you with things about their lives, stuff they didn't need to tell you, if you were just their regular classmate and not their friend?"

Ray thinks about Chad mentioning the other day that he and Reba were trying to have a baby, but so far it hadn't happened. He hadn't known what to say, other than to thank Chad for telling him and say he'd be there to listen if Chad ever needed to vent. "Yes."

"Did you share things in return?" Rudy asks, over the sound of something metallic popping loudly in Brad's mess of electronics.

"No, I just let him talk," he says with a shrug. "Can we move on?"

Rudy looks like he wants to push the subject, then must decide to let it drop. "Sure."

*

Ray’s sitting at the kitchen table, accounting homework taking up three-quarters of the available surface area, and squinting at his laptop, because fuck this. He’s normally no slouch at actual accounting math, but all this theory is ridiculous. “Does this make sense to you?” he asks Mr. Fluffy, who is currently flopped across Ray’s foot in a way that’s making it fall asleep. “Like, I get why we need to know all the capital budgeting shit, that's cool, but this chapter on GPK is fucking pointless. Am I going to go run a factory in Frankfurt? No, I am not.”

Mr. Fluffy makes a sad warbling noise; Ray assumes these are his cat-thoughts in regards to moving to Germany and not simply his annoyance at being bothered. He opens YouTube in a new browser tab. If he has to read about cost centers, he’s going to have decent background music.

He’s belting out the opening lyrics to “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” when the door from the garage opens and he hears Brad’s footsteps over the music. Ray keeps singing, though, this is a good song, he’s in a groove, most of this GPK stuff is making sense.

Then Brad starts singing along, and Ray dislodges the cat to turn slowly in his seat and look at him wide-eyed. Brad finishes getting his boots off and notices Ray staring at him. Something like a smile flickers across his face and his gaze travels downward, taking in the school clothes Ray hadn’t bothered to change out of. Then he walks out of the kitchen towards his room, still singing. 

Ray turns back to his laptop. “Can't you hear me knockin', yeah, down the gas light street, now,” he croons down to Mr. Fluffy, who settles himself once more over Ray’s foot. He does his best not to twitch, because the pins and needles feeling is now at maximum itchy.

Brad comes back during the guitar solo, dressed in his usual after-work clothes. He starts opening and closing cupboards, clearly looking for something. Ray realizes he’s trying to type his notes in time with the song and laughs softly at himself. “Are you looking for the peanut butter?” he asks Brad. “I left it by the toaster, sorry.”

He glances over to see that Brad’s bobbing his head along to the beat. He shrugs at Ray and grabs a spoon from the drawer as the guitar ends, and “Sympathy for the Devil” starts. Apparently Ray left autoplay on.

He makes a face as Brad sticks a spoonful of peanut butter into his mouth. “I thought you hated peanut butter,” he says.

“MRE peanut butter, yeah, but this is crunchy,” Brad replies, like it should be obvious. Then they both yell along with the song, _I rode a tank, held a General’s rank_ , and Mr. Fluffy dashes out of the room like he’s been lit on fire. Ray tips his head back, laughing and still trying to keep up with Jagger, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Brad put his spoon back into the peanut butter like a child.

“Oh my God, Brad, you can’t – ugh, I will buy my own fucking jar from now on,” Ray groans, as Brad mangles the next few lines of the song around his mouthful of peanut butter. Ray covers his face with his hands. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

Brad ignores that. The sink comes on, so he's at least rinsing off the spoon before he adds it to the dishwasher. “I can’t say I ever aspired to knowing all the words to that particular song,” he says as the music fades out. “Much less remembering them all these years.” He quirks a brow. “Thank you, Ray.”

Then he grins, wide and bright, and Ray can’t help but laugh some more, feeling lighter than he has in months. “ _Please_ don’t ever make me watch you eating peanut butter like that again.”

“I promise I’ll buy a brand new jar.” Brad spins one of the chairs around and straddles it. He looks critically at Ray’s mess of papers. “Have you reached the foreseen breaking point where you’ll pay me to distract you from homework?”

“Not quite, but it’s about to give me a headache,” Ray sighs. He hits pause on the computer before “Shine a Light” can really get going. “So, how are the kids?”

Brad rolls his eyes. “The kids. They endeavor, every single day, and in the most precisely focused way, to make me question just how it is I ended up in this unwanted position of trying to teach them _anything_.”

“You are a lying liar who lies, you love them,” Ray replies. He refreshes his school email. “Oh, thank fuck, Chad recorded that lecture and sent it to me. Hey, do we need to get Halloween candy?”

“How…” Brad is making the _help I’m confused_ face. “What the fuck do your mindless accounting lectures and tiny Snickers have in common?”

“Chad invited me to the Halloween party he and the wife are having. And that reminded me I was going to ask if you get a lot of small children around this joint. You know, trick-or-treat? I’ll chip in, if you want to get the rugrats decent candy, not some cheap shit. I’m down with Snickers, then I can eat the leftovers.” Ray hits reply on the email and RSVPs that he will totally be at Chad’s spooky shindig, and that he’ll bring chips and a case of beer. “Wait, if I get wasted at this party will you come pick me up?”

“That depends on if you’re leaving me here to dispense miniature candy bars to screaming children on sugar highs dressed in cheap plastic Batman masks,” Brad replies slowly.

“Hmmm, let’s see,” Ray mutters, searching for the trick-or-treat date for Columbus. “No. Party on Friday, cheap plastic Batman masks on Saturday.”

“So you’ll merely be hungover.”

“Probably,” Ray says with a grin.

“Fine. Tiny Snickers it is. Leave a note on the corkboard so I don't forget.” Brad unfolds himself from the chair. “That’s a good shirt on you, by the way.”

Ray looks down at himself. It’s the dark green checkered one. “Thanks. Wait, do you want to come with to Chad's? The invite says Ray _and guest_ , if I so desire.”

Brad looks like he's struggling against making a joke, probably something about college students and parties, ruined before it gets out of his mouth by the fact that Ray's classmates are all actual adults. Ray finds himself delighted to watch the battle play out across Brad's face, and grins smugly at him. "You can't think of a reason to say no, can you? Brad, you social animal."

Now Brad looks like he might be contemplating murder. The cords of his neck are visible. Ray smiles wider. "I'll tell Chad you're coming. You'll have fun; there will be beer, and Juliet doesn't drink so we can con her into giving us a ride if you get drunk, too."

"I - _fine_. No fucking costumes, though." Brad stomps out of the room and Ray opens his email again to let Chad know he'll be using that plus one after all.

*

"Are you sure I can't convince you to wear a costume?" he asks Brad, pausing before putting the car into reverse.

"I am not digging through whatever rejects are on the floor at Target simply to make you happy," Brad replies, narrowing his eyes at Ray. He's wearing cargo shorts and a henley that makes his shoulders look extra broad; Ray is doing his best not to notice. "We're already going to be late."

"Yeah, _fashionably_ late."

Brad rolls his eyes. "That's not a thing."

"It is."

"Shut up, Ray."

Ray grins and backs the car out of the driveway. 

"Are you sure you should drive with that thing on your head?" Brad asks, skeptically eyeing Ray's Scream mask where it's pushed up on top of his head. 

"It's fine, it's up out of the way." Ray pats it carefully with one hand. "Figured I might get in trouble if I actually wore it while driving."

"Knowing you, probably."

Chad's house isn't hard to find - it's the only one with blow-up ghosts in the yard - and he opens the front door wearing a Raggedy Andy wig and overalls. "Dudes! Come on in." He holds the screen door open, then shakes Brad's hand. "You must be Brad. Glad you could make it." 

"Thanks for inviting me."

Ray holds up the case of Miller Lite. "Yo, where do you want this?"

"We've got a tub of ice over there." Chad points somewhere into the next room. "So you can dump it in with the rest. Come on, let me introduce you to Reba."

Reba's wearing the matching Raggedy Ann wig and drinking a Coke out of a can through a straw. "Please eat some of these hors d'oeuvres I made," she says, once Chad's made the introductions. "We had a bunch of people RSVP but now I don't think they're actually coming, and there is no way I want to eat ham and cheese roll-ups all week."

"We are on it," Ray promises. He pushes the sleeve of his costume up out of the way and fishes two cold beers from the tub before rolling in as much of the case as will fit. "Shit, that's cold," he mutters as he shoves the cans around in the ice, and Brad rolls his eyes. 

"Ray, get me out a soda while you're digging around in there," Gabriella says, appearing nearly out of nowhere and leaning over his shoulder to look into the tub. "Is there Sprite?"

"Yep." He fishes one out and hands it over. "Where's your costume?"

"Costumes, ugh," she groans. "I gave up. The only thing that fit even sort of right was the cow costume, and I really did not want to walk around with the udder over my belly, no thanks." She shakes her head, then looks at the guy to her left, who's grinning widely. "Pablo, don't even say it."

"I wasn't," he protests, holding his hands up. To Ray and Brad he says, "Hi, I'm Gaby's husband Pablo." 

Ray feels Brad's hand drift over the small of his back, quick enough that he thinks he might be imagining it, as more introductions are made. He gives up on the mask - it's hot, and it's hard to talk to people in it - and leaves it under the food table. Brandon shows up with two more bags of chips as Ray and Gabriella are debating French onion dip versus ranch. 

"Thought you were bringing your fiancee," Ray says to Brandon. 

Brandon shakes his head, frowning. "She had to work, unfortunately, they've got some big rush project."

"That sucks. Brandon, Brad. Brad, Brandon."

Brad reaches over to shake Brandon's hand, and Ray feels the same touch to the small of his back. Definitely not imagining it. "I think French onion with Doritos might be a pregnancy thing, sorry, Gaby," he says to Gabriella, resuming their conversation.

"No, try it."

"I'll pass."

Gabriella glares at him. "Pablo, tell Ray he should at least try."

"It's good," Pablo tells Ray with a shrug, sticking a chip into the French onion dip on Gaby's plate.

"Still gonna pass," Ray says. 

Brad elbows him lightly. "You eat all sorts of weird stuff at home."

"I do not," Ray insists.

"Last week you ate that leftover Chipotle bowl with potato chips."

Brad is a _traitor_. "Because we didn't have any more tortilla chips, and the potato chips were the next closest thing."

"That sounds amazing," Gabriella sighs. "Hey, wasn't Juliet going to be here?"

"I think she's talking to Reba," Brandon says, carefully putting pickles on his plate. "Did you finish the reading for McMichael?" he asks Ray.

Ray shakes his head. "Not yet. I think I've got about twenty pages to go."

"Was that the thing you were swearing at every thirty seconds last night?" Brad asks, leaning around Ray to steal slices of red pepper off Ray's place.

"Stop it, get your own." Ray smacks at his hand. Brad looks unrepentant. "And yeah, every other sentence was borderline incomprehensible."

"I had to get out my giant business terminology book," Brandon says. He makes a disgusted face. "I haven't had to take it off the shelf since my junior year of undergrad."

There's a moment of collective silence as everyone makes pained faces. Then Brad leans around again to steal more vegetables from Ray's plate.

*

"Hey Ray, can I ask you something?" Brandon calls, and Ray looks up from the textbook to see Brandon looking at the pictures on the wall. He's come over to work on their accounting project, since Brad's out for dinner with someone from Benning, but mostly they've been watching ESPN and bitching about their internships.

"Sure," Ray says, figuring Brandon wants to ask something about Ray's time in the Corps, since Brandon's stopped in front of the framed platoon picture, with Fick's note to Brad down in the corner. Ray gets up from the table and walks over.

Brandon glances at him. "Um. Is it hard, with Brad still being active duty? Like, can you guys go out?"

"Can we go -" Ray's chest tightens as he catches on to what Brandon is asking. He swallows. "Oh. We're not - he's not - he's letting me live here for now. He's not - he's not my boyfriend."

Brandon's looking at Ray like he doesn't quite believe the words coming out of Ray's mouth, and Ray wonders what Brandon's seeing in his expression. He sighs, tugging a little at the collar of his shirt, suddenly hot and uncomfortable. "Look, here -" 

He points at the picture of Shannon and Jesse, with Jamie in his cute shark onesie between them. "That girl, Brad was going to marry her, once upon a time. And the dude she's with, that's Brad's best friend from way back, in California where Brad's from. She dumped Brad all sudden and shit so she could marry that guy, and nowhere in here did any of them stop being friends. The kid, he's Brad's godson."

Brandon looks from the picture, to Ray, to the picture again. "Jesus."

"I'm not sure if he's still in love with her, or in love with both of them, or in love with some weird idea, but…" Ray trails off, shrugging. "I'm not gonna tell him what his face looks like when he's Skyping with them and the baby's being all ridiculous and cute and Brad's just sitting on an empty couch."

Brandon looks glum. "Oh, man. That's shitty."

"Yep." Ray shrugs again. "I don't know, I don't ask, for sure. If he wants to tell me, he can."

"What about you?" 

He looks sideways at Brandon. "What about me?"

Brandon gives him the same look right back. "Come on, Ray, we've all figured out you kinda fled Missouri. Maybe not in the dead of night on the lam, but -"

"Actually, it was basically in the middle of the night," Ray says with a sigh. He shoves a hand through his hair and shrugs. Talking about it makes him feel sort of itchy and he has to adjust his shirt again. "I mean, I knew I was probably going to do it, since I applied for school and got in and everything, but I pretended like I wasn't actually leaving right up until I grabbed Mr. Fluffy and booked it for the car."

"Don't tell me you stole the cat from someone."

Ray feels himself turn red. "No, no," he says, waving his hand. "Technically, I mean. He used to belong to my ex's ex, so he wasn't really Wes' cat. And he always liked me best. He's only hiding right now because you're here."

Brandon laughs. "Okay." He bumps his shoulder companionably against Ray's. "Thanks for telling me, dude. I think Gaby and Juliet have a bet, just so you know, about what your dark secret is, but both of them had ridiculously dramatic scenarios. I think Juliet's money was on you being a con artist like in that one Leonardo DiCaprio movie."

That takes Ray a second to place. "The one - the one where Tom Hanks is chasing him?"

"Yeah, that one."

"That's at least sort of a compliment," Ray laughs. "Guess I'm flattered that anyone would think I could pull something like that off. I might have been in the military, but I can't fly a fucking plane." 

"But -" here Brandon points at him, nodding his head, "but, you could totally be a lawyer. I could see that."

The thought of even more classes makes Ray groan. "Ugh, law school."

Brandon's grinning widely. "Nah, you just bluff your way into taking the bar, and then pass."

"Isn't that the plot of like, eighteen television shows and movies?"

"Probably." 

"What was Gaby's guess?"

"About your dark secret? Um…" Brandon squints up at the ceiling. "I think it was that you were a CIA assassin, not a Marine, and this was the quietest town you could find to retire to."

That one makes Ray laugh, hard enough he has to press a hand to his chest. "Oh, man. That's good. I need to thank Gaby for that vote of international fucking mystery."

Brandon's grinning. "We didn't _mean_ to start speculating and stuff, I swear."

Ray waves a hand. "Whatever, it's cool. I'm sure much worse has been said about me."

*

Ray's phone is flashing when he gets up on Wednesday morning. _there's a new donut place downtown, want to go?_ Gabriella's text reads. _someone needs to stop me from buying one of everything_

 _free between 10-1 today, send me the address if that works for u,_ Ray writes back, absentmindedly petting Mr. Fluffy with his foot for a second before getting up. 

When he's out of the shower, Gabriella's texted him the address and _see you at 10, I'll bring you Sbux_. 

She's standing outside the shop when Ray parks his car, with her bright red jacket open and holding two cardboard cups. "Mocha for you, decaf mocha for me," she says, making a sad face. 

"Only a couple more months and you can drown yourself in caffeine," Ray replies, taking the cup she holds out. "Thanks. Is this fancy donuts with like, chocolate shavings and caramelized bacon and shit?"

"Yes. Or so the article in the paper said."

"Excellent."

"It doesn't look too busy right now, hopefully there are some left," Gaby says as he follows her inside. 

The long cases are sorely depleted, but there's still a decent variety to choose from, or so Ray thinks. He would probably eat anything right now. Gabriella sighs dramatically and the woman behind the counter smiles. "That's a good sigh," she says. "Do you have any questions? Or allergies? I can tell you what's in everything."

Gaby looks at Ray and he gestures for her to go first. "I need something with chocolate," she tells the woman, whose nametag reads Kelli.

"I have chocolate cake with chocolate and strawberry on top, or there's one s'mores left, or…" Kelli trails off to squint at the cases. "There's one that's like a croissant with chocolate and raspberry jam inside."

"I'll take the two that aren't s'mores," Gaby says decisively. "Baby's not too into marshmallow these days."

Ray eyeballs what's left as Gaby pays for hers, so he's ready when Kelli looks at him. "I'd like a lemon cream, a gingerbread cake, and that chocolate peanut butter. Can you put the last one in a separate bag?"

"You got it."

"Saving one for later?" Gaby asks.

"No, it's for Brad," Ray says, feeling himself turn red. "He likes peanut butter."

Gaby's mouth is twitching like she's trying not to smile. "That's nice of you."

Ray settles up and asks how early in the morning they should show up to see the full assortment. "Before eight," Kelli says with an apologetic look. "It's been a really early crowd since we opened."

"Don't worry, we'll be back," Gaby tells her with a grin. 

There are a couple small tables, so Ray and Gaby sit down to eat. Ray carefully folds up the wax paper bag with Brad's donut inside so it stays fresh, then breaks the cake donut in half. "So I heard all about everyone's secret spy theories," he says. He takes a bite of the donut; it definitely tastes like gingerbread.

"Oops," Gaby replies, not sounding apologetic at all. "You were all mysterious and stuff at first! Could I help it if it was fun to imagine you were a retired secret agent, hiding out in Columbus, living a quiet life with your military boyfriend that you met on a secret mission in like, Azerbaijan or something."

Ray starts laughing and can't stop, and has to put down his donut. When he can speak again, he says, "That's some romance novel Jason Bourne sort of thing, oh, God." He takes a deep breath. "Brad's just my roommate, and while we might have done some vaguely spy-ish things in Recon, there were definitely no secret Azerbaijan missions."

"Well, that's disappointing." She takes a huge bite of the chocolate strawberry and her eyes go wide. "I'm never eating anything else," she says when she can speak again.

"I'll bring you a dozen in the hospital," Ray promises, trying to figure out how to best eat the lemon cream without making a mess.

"You better."

*

Apart from the occasional email that Ray continues to delete, he hasn't heard from Wes in weeks, and he starts to be slightly less paranoid about phone calls from numbers he doesn't recognize, in case it's someone from Sodaco calling about work stuff. He's about to start homework one night when he sees his phone is flashing with missed calls, so he dials into the voicemail, letting the automated voice talk on speakerphone while he rifles through his school bag. He can hear the garage start to open as his phone goes to the first missed message.

"Ray, it's me," Wes says, voice pleading and sort of hoarse, and exactly how Ray knows he sounds when he's had a few shots. "Would you please call me back, okay? I miss you. I still can't believe you left like that and now you don't ever answer your phone and I don't know if you changed your fucking number or what but I don't even know where you went and I don't know if you're okay -" At that, Ray hits the button to delete the message without listening to the rest of it. 

"What was that?" Brad asks from the doorway, and Ray jumps. He heard the garage door, yeah, but he didn't realize Brad was inside the house already.

"Nothing," he says shortly.

Brad sits down at the table, pulling one leg up and slowly unlacing his boot. The sound of the laces seems loud. Ray stares down at his phone, feeling like he can't move. After at least a minute of neither of them speaking, Brad says, "Do you need me to help hide the body?"

That snaps Ray out of it, a little. "Oh. Ha, ha. No. Well, maybe eventually. But not right now."

"Okay. Just let me know." Brad gets his other boot off, stands up, and strolls out of the room. 

Ray realizes his hands are shaking and curls them into fists, digging his nails into his palms for a second. He hears Brad's bedroom door close, then Mr. Fluffy comes dawdling into the kitchen. Ray scoops him up and hides his face in the cat's soft fur. He realizes his phone is still flashing at him and he looks at the call log this time to be safe. It's Brandon.

"Hey, Ray my man, sorry I missed you. Jenny wanted me to call and see what you are doing for Thanksgiving; that's next week Thursday, turkey day, pumpkin pie, et cetera. If you don't have plans, we're inviting you. So let me know. We're doing turkey, stuffing, cranberries, the whole thing. You only have to bring you and maybe a bottle of vino, if you want. Call or text me or whatever." 

It makes Ray laugh, easing a little of his tension. Brandon always leaves the most rambling voicemails, even about stuff like their accounting homework. 

_sure I can do T-giving,_ he texts in reply. 

_Brad can come too if he wants_ , Brandon writes back. 

"Yo, Brad, you doing anything for Thanksgiving?" Ray yells.

"Why are you yelling?" Brad shouts in reply. He comes out of his room - Ray hears his footsteps - and asks in a more normal voice, from somewhere behind Ray, "Are we a house of children? What is it?"

"Brandon says you can tag along for Thanksgiving if you don't already have plans." Ray looks up from rifling through his messenger bag for a highlighter. "Did you have plans?"

"Got invited to Richmond's place," Brad says. He stoops to pick up some notebook paper that's slid out of Ray's folder. "Something about deep-frying a turkey."

"Man, that's dangerous, I know somebody who exploded one once. They ended up ordering pizza."

"Was that person you?" Brad turns to open the refrigerator and grab a Gatorade. "I'm going out on the porch to work out," he says over his shoulder as he walks away.

"Okay." Ray looks down at the textbook he'd been about to open before he looked at his phone. He can't remember what he was even going to do, now. He digs out the syllabus. Chapter fifteen, right. _The Dark Side of Leadership_. "Luke, I am your father," he mutters under his breath, and flips open the book.

Twenty minutes later he gives up, having read the same paragraph half a dozen times, and goes to see if the treadmill is free.

*

_Hey Ray -_

_Hope this email finds you well, and your studies progressing in a positive way._

_I'm writing to you from Seattle - it's not raining! - and it's quirky here. I like it. I think you would, too. They put me up in this nice hotel room, all white, good for channelling energy. You ever just sit in an empty room, let your mind flow free? Rise above the world & realign your prana. _

_I enjoyed the Halloween party rundown - sad you couldn't get Brad to wear a costume, ha ha. Your friends sound great & I'm glad you have them. Send more stories. Gotta go, gotta meditate before I go down to this convention center to spread my message._

_Hook and jab, brother. Much love -_

_Rudy_

Ray sits there for a second, thinking about what Rudy said to him about sharing things with people, and closes the laptop. His shoulders feel tight, and he has to consciously think about bringing them down from up by his ears. It sort of helps. He says to Brad, "I need to tell you something."

Brad doesn't look up from whatever he's wiring. "I'm listening."

Ray lies down flat on his back on the sofa and thinks about how to say it for a while. Brad doesn't press. Ray can hear the little metallic noises continue. 

"I'm bisexual," Ray says finally, staring up at the ceiling because he can't look at Brad while he's saying it. 

"I know, Ray," Brad says quietly.

Ray sits up in a hurry. He can't actually see Brad's face, though, since Brad's on the floor leaning over his drone, with a pair of pliers in hand. "Wait, what?"

"Well, when you kept rejecting that one guy's calls, I knew something was up. And then when he left you that weird voicemail last week, I sort of figured it out." Brad pauses for a second. "You're not as mysterious as you think."

"Shut up," Ray says, mostly out of habit. His throat is suddenly dry, and he grabs the glass of water on the coffee table and drinks half of it in one go, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You know you really have to tell me who he was, now," Brad continues. He puts down the pliers with a thunk and looks up at Ray. "I mean, other than clearly your ex. Like, was he a shitty boyfriend?"

Something in Brad's gaze makes Ray want to squirm a little. First, he can't believe they're really having this conversation, because he half expected Brad to say, "Oh, okay, Ray," and then neither of them would bring it up again. Ever. 

The other half thought Brad would maybe kick him out.

He sighs, looking back up at the ceiling. "Yes and no, if that makes sense? Like, we had a ton of stuff in common, and got along super great at first. Long enough that I moved to the Ozarks and shit with him, when he got a better job. But once we were there, if we'd go out for a drink or whatever and I'd talk to anybody else, he got weird. And then the weirdness turned into outright fucking jealousy, so going out inevitably turned into a fucking fight, and then I was just - tired of it all, I guess. Relationships are about choosing to make it work, you know? And Wes decided that a shouting match was his favorite fucking method of problem-solving, and I decided I didn't want to put in the work anymore. So I applied to Barkdale, and told myself that if I got accepted, that was the universe telling me it was really time to leave Wes. Then I actually got in, so I grabbed Mr. Fluffy and booked it on out of there."

Brad doesn't say anything for so long that Ray looks over at him again, wondering if he's gone back to working on the drone. But Brad's still looking at him, his gaze contemplative. He asks, "Did you steal the cat from your awful ex-boyfriend?"

"Oh my God, why is that everyone's first question?" Ray asks, and Brad starts to laugh. "No, I did not steal him, technically. Remember when I said he got left? He really got left with Wes, before Wes and I ever hooked up. But Wes never liked him very much anyway. Only kind of tolerated him. So he's mine now."

Brad nods. "Okay."

"Just - okay?"

"I'm sorry to hear your ex was such a fuck-up," Brad says. He makes what's probably supposed to be a sympathetic face. "You deserve better than somebody who treats you like shit, Ray."

"Thanks," Ray murmurs, oddly touched, because he knows Brad wouldn't say it unless he means it. 

"If the cops come looking for Mr. Fluffy, I will hide him for you." Brad looks and sounds serious about that, and Ray figures he probably is; Brad and Mr. Fluffy have totally bonded.

"Thanks. You know, all the times Wes tried to call me and shit, he never once mentioned the cat."

"Another sign that you did the right thing," Brad says, nodding as he speaks. "Okay. Great. Good talk, Ray, I'm glad you told me. You never had to hide it, I want you to know that."

"Um, okay."

Brad turns back around to his drone. 

"I think I'm going to go to the grocery store," Ray says, feeling like he should be somewhere else for a while. "Do you need anything from the grocery store?"

"You're in your pajamas," Brad points out, and Ray looks down at himself, having not even thought about _clothes_ , only that he needs to get out of the house. 

It's late. He's seen people at the store in worse than sloppy sweatpants and a hoodie. "No one will care." 

"Okay," Brad says, in the tone that means he's not looking for any sort of argument and will agree with nearly anything Ray says. "Can you get some bananas?"

"Sure."

He doesn't run out of the house, but it's close, and he has to stop in the driveway to re-tie his shoe because he jammed his feet into them without looking. When he does, he realizes his palms are sweaty, and he wipes them on his pants. "Get it together, fucker," he whispers to himself. "It's only Brad, and he's your friend."

It's then that Ray realizes he wouldn't have classified Brad as his actual friend up until now, but as he thinks about it on the drive to the grocery store, he's seen Brad act more like an actual human person in the last couple months than all the time they served together. Brad ate straight out of the peanut butter jar in front of him. Brad even lies on the couch looking bored and watching television like a normal person would sometimes, before he gets all huffy with himself for being lazy and takes his bike for a ride or goes out onto the rickety screened-in porch where he keeps all his exercise equipment to work out.

At the store, Ray wanders the aisles slowly for a while before getting Brad's bananas, the carton of eggs they do actually need, and some juice. In the checkout, he grabs a couple Butterfingers bars on impulse. 

His phone buzzes as he's sitting in the car, trying to decide if he wants to drive back or if he wants to sit here in the dark a while longer. It's Brad. _u ok?_

Ray thinks about it for a few seconds then writes back, _yeah. I just don't tell a lot of people so it was weird_

When he gets home, Brad's watching _House Hunters International_ and badmouthing every decision the couple house-hunting are making. Ray drops a candy bar on him in silent thanks, then goes to his room to read for a while. 

There's a knock on his door right as Ray's about ready to close his book and pull the blankets over his head. He squirms out of bed and answers it, Mr. Fluffy protesting that he's moving the whole time. "Is something wrong?" he asks Brad, who's standing there in his pajamas with his arms crossed over his chest. 

"No, I forgot to tell you before that I'll be out of town the week after Thanksgiving for a training thing," Brad says. "It only came up this morning. So if your friends want to come over, I won't be in the way."

Ray snorts. "You being home is hardly in the way of us doing our homework, but okay. Do I need to do anything house-wise while you're gone?" 

Brad shakes his head and smiles. "Just don't burn the place down is all I've got."

"I think I can handle that."

"Goodnight, Ray."

"Night, Brad."

*

Brandon and Jenny's apartment is loud with jazz, bright with strands of Christmas lights, and nearly covered in drafting paper and blueprints. "Didn't I tell you Jenny's an architect?" Brandon asks, taking the wine from Ray's hands. He opens the refrigerator and frowns, clearly trying to figure out where to fit it in.

"No, you didn't," Ray says. "Put the white in the freezer, it'll chill faster."

"As long as we don't forget about it." Brandon tucks the riesling in between a bucket of vanilla ice cream and a stack of frozen vegetable bags. "I'll open the red?"

"Sure."

"You must be Ray!" a voice says behind him, and Ray turns to find himself being hugged by a woman who must be Jenny. She's wearing a Queens of the Stone Age t-shirt, which immediately puts her in Ray's good column. "Uh, sorry, I'm a hugger. That was probably rude, since we haven't even been introduced. Hi, I'm Jenny."

"Clearly I'm Ray," Ray says, shaking her hand. "Glad to meet you, thanks for having me over."

"We're glad you could come. And you brought more wine!" 

"Um, we've been drinking as we cook," Brandon says, giving Ray an apologetic smile. "So basically all afternoon."

Jenny adds, "And part of the morning, let's be honest here, babe. I needed wine to even watch you deal with the turkey. Raw meat, gross." 

"And yet you made it through admirably." Brandon pops the cork out of the malbec, pours generously, and hands the glass to Ray. "I guess you need to catch up, dude."

"Guess so. Is there anything I can help with, food-wise?"

Jenny waves her hands. "Nah, I set the table and everything already, we're basically just waiting for all the timers to go off, most of the stuff is in the oven. Brandon just needs to get the salad out of the fridge. I hope you're okay with fruit in a salad; I got the recipe from my mom and it's got those little tiny mandarin oranges from the can, and slivered almonds and raisins and stuff."

Ray can't help but find her tipsy enthusiasm infectious. "Sure, that sounds good to me."

The salad is excellent, and everything else even more so. Jenny tells him about her industrial design projects as they eat, animatedly waving her fork around. They watch _Revenge of the Jedi_ during pumpkin pie. Ray has a good time, better than his last Thanksgiving by far, and makes a point of telling them so. 

At the end of the evening, Brandon and Jenny send him home with a huge container of leftovers, a third of the pie, and one of the remaining bottles of wine. The house doesn't look very lit up from outside, but Brad's truck is there, and Ray can see the flicker of the television. Brad's stretched out on the couch when Ray goes in, and he sits up when he sees Ray. He's got the Bond marathon on. 

"Are you lying there in the dark?" Ray asks, untying his shoes and leaving them lined up on the mat. "I thought you said you had plans for tonight."

"I didn't." Brad moves slightly, and Ray can see the bottle of good tequila on the table, along with an empty glass. He hopes Brad hasn't been sitting here getting wasted alone. Brad sniffs, then adds, "I lied."

"Why? Brandon and Jenny's invitation was to you, too, and there was plenty of room and food." Ray goes into the kitchen and puts the leftovers in the refrigerator, then looks at the wine for a minute, trying to decide if he wants to open it. He doesn't have anywhere he needs to be tomorrow.

"They're your friends, Ray."

"Well, for some unknown reason, they also seem to believe me when I say you're not a serial killer, so it wouldn't have been a big deal if you'd come along. If I open this wine, do you want some?"

Brad's quiet for a moment. Then he says, "I'll drink a glass, sure."

Ray opens the bottle and carries it and two glasses into the living room where he pours them each a too-full glass. Mr. Fluffy is stretched out across both loveseat cushions, so he shrugs and sits down next to Brad, who now leaning so bonelessly against the back of the couch that Ray is sure he doesn't actually need anything else alcoholic. 

"You can have the leftovers, then, since you didn't get any turkey," Ray tells him. "And there's pie. But seriously, why are you in here being a loser?"

Brad huffs. "Watch the James Bond, will you?"

Ray slides his foot over and kicks Brad, just because. Brad elbows him lightly in return, then doesn't quite move his arm all the way back once he stops jabbing it into Ray's side. "I don't think I've ever seen you this drunk," Ray says. "Could you even stand up right now?"

"If I wanted to." 

Ray cradles his wineglass carefully and reaches to drag the ottoman a little closer so he can put his feet up before turning his attention to the movie. It's _On Her Majesty's Secret Service_ , which Ray is pretty sure he used to hate growing up - James Bond, getting _married_? Even if he was marrying Diana Rigg - but doesn't mind as much now. On screen, Bond is fighting a henchman at the edge of the ocean, a knee in the man's back, pushing his face into the sand.

"Did you ever watch _The Avengers_?" Brad asks after a few minutes, as the opening credits start to play. 

Ray blinks at him. "That shitty Uma Thurman movie?"

"No, the TV series." Brad waves a lazy hand, thankfully not the one holding his wineglass, towards the screen. "Wait, you _saw_ the shitty Uma Thurman movie?"

"No, I listened to some amateur movie reviewers badmouth it on a podcast." He spent a lot of the downtime at the hotel job listening to podcasts. "What was the original question?"

It takes Brad a second. "The original _Avengers_ , the British show. Diana Rigg was on it."

Ah, that explains Brad's train of thought. "I don't think so."

"You should. It was like MacGyver with British people and she usually ended up wearing a catsuit." Brad sighs into his wineglass. "You want some tequila? I should have offered."

Drunk Brad is all over the place; Ray is highly entertained. Well, more like Brad drunk in his own house is all over the place. He's seen Brad intoxicated before, but it's been years. When they went out with guys from the platoon, the more he drank, the more tightly controlled he became, even though Ray's pretty sure it should have gone the other way around. Apparently he'd never gotten Brad drunk in the right place. Or drunk enough.

Ray leans over and screws the cap carefully back on the bottle of tequila, saying, "No thanks, dude, I probably shouldn't mix the two."

Brad leans his head back against the sofa, then turns his face towards Ray. "You should watch _The Avengers_."

His face looks so soft and earnest by the flickering light of the television. Ray sort of wants to pat his cheek. "I will watch it, I promise."

Brad smiles slightly. "But only the Diana Rigg series. And maybe the one with the lady who played Pussy Galore."

This time it's Ray who takes a second to make the connection. "Speaking of, did I miss _Goldfinger_?"

"It's on at midnight," Brad says to the ceiling. "I looked it up."

"Of course you did."

Brad grins at him and tips sideways a little until he's leaning against Ray. "Wow, you are drunk," Ray murmurs quietly. Brad hums. "No more for you."

"I have excellent tolerance," Brad says, sounding indignant. His elbow digs into Ray's side for a second. "But that was a lot. Of tequila."

Ray pats his knee awkwardly. "You just don't normally cuddle."

Brad sighs and leans his head on Ray's shoulder. It would be funny if it wasn't almost pathetic, and Ray feels bad that Brad's been getting drunk by himself all afternoon. Softly, he asks, "Hey, are you okay?"

Brad doesn't answer for so long that Ray wonders if he's fallen asleep, but then he takes a breath so deep Ray can feel his entire body move. "Yeah. Just did a lot of thinking today."

"A little self-contemplation can be good, but probably not when you've got a bottle of tequila to go along with it," Ray says. He watches Bond, now in a hotel room, hit a different henchman with a chair.

"I feel very relaxed now."

"I can see that," Ray chuckles. "Does this mean you're going to pass out before _Goldfinger_?"

"Ah, probably," Brad sighs, and Ray chuckles some more. "Ray…"

Ray turns his head slightly; Brad is very close. His breath smells like tequila and what Ray thinks is strawberry Pop-Tarts. "Hmm?" 

Brad leans in and presses his mouth softly to Ray's. It lasts barely a second. Unexpected sadness prickles at Ray, a white-cold flare in his chest and behind his eyelids, and he gently and carefully nudges Brad back with his hands against Brad's warm shoulders. They can't do this. 

"You've had a fuckton to drink, Colbert," he whispers. The words seem to hang in the air. Ray takes a breath, mind racing to come up with a way to get Brad to move away, without sending him into some gross spiral of self-loathing that will make things uncomfortable for weeks. Ray definitely doesn't want that. Ray actually wouldn't mind kissing again, but he knows it's an awful idea. He shouldn't even think about it. He can't. "I don't want to get barfed on, okay?"

Brad stares at him, something painful in his expression, his mouth twisted. Ray's heart thumps painfully, tripping in his chest. Finally, Brad swallows audibly and mutters, "Sorry."

"I know you're not yourself," Ray says, touching his fingertips lightly to Brad's arm. He knows he shouldn't want to let Brad off the hook, and doing so shouldn't be this easy; Ray feels like he should care more about the line Brad's just crossed, but Ray's tired too, and Brad's strange melancholy mood seems to be catching.

Brad moves back a little, his long limbs not at all coordinated, not really away but enough so he's no longer right in Ray's space. He rubs a hand over his face. "I should - I better go to bed. I think that would be in my best interests."

"You can stay, it's okay," Ray says, feeling suddenly helpless. "It's _Goldfinger_ next, come on."

It takes Brad a few seconds. "Are you sure?"

"It's fine." Ray drains what's left in his wineglass and pours some more. On screen, Bond dictates his resignation from Her Majesty's Secret Service. 

Brad doesn't say anything, and when Ray looks over at him during the next commercial break, he sees that Brad's slumped back against the sofa, face tipped up towards the ceiling, asleep. The lines of his face have smoothed out and his chest is rising and falling softly, and Ray suddenly wants very much to move over, settle his body against Brad's, and fall asleep as well.

That's - that's not smart. But he can't look away from the softness of Brad's sleeping face or his slightly open mouth that Ray is very disappointed in himself to realize he would very much like to try kissing again after all. 

Brad twitches slightly and moves, coming to rest against Ray's shoulder, and Ray freezes. But Brad's still asleep and breathing steadily and shallowly. This close, Ray can only see the line of his nose and the alcohol-induced flush of his cheeks below his eyelashes. 

He looks at Brad a while longer, then decides he's definitely also had enough alcohol and self-reflection for one night. He sucks in a shuddery breath, gets up carefully so that he doesn't wake Brad, and puts himself to bed.

*

Ray's still pretty sleepy as he shuffles into the living room the first Saturday in December, and doesn't realize Brad's on his laptop until he hears a woman's voice. Brad waves at him sort of absentmindedly, his attention on the laptop screen, and when Ray gets a little closer he can see that Brad's got Skype open, and Shannon's on the other side of the call with Jamie on her lap.

"Coffee's hot," Brad says, glancing up at Ray. 

"Thanks."

Brad looks back at the screen. "Shannon, you remember Ray, right?"

"Yeah, hi, Ray," Shannon calls, waving. "Jamie, say hi!"

"Hiiiiiiii hi hi," Jamie says, waving at the camera. 

Ray's still at an angle where he can see Brad's face, and he's pretty sure it's in his best interest to never, ever, not in a million years mention to Brad that Brad looks like he would crawl through the webcam if he could. Instead Ray says, "Hi, Shannon, hi, Jamie buddy," and waves back before going into the kitchen.

He's been around when Brad's Skyped with them before, and he actually met Shannon once, what feels like forever ago, back while she was still with Brad, back when they'd been one of those couples that couldn't stop looking at each other and smiling. At the time, he thought she was nice and liked her fine, but that was before she broke Brad's heart and then ground it into the dirt for good measure. 

"I didn't realize Ray was still living with you," he hears her say. "I thought it was just for a couple of weeks."

"His school is only like fifteen minutes away from here, and he couldn't find an apartment that allows cats, so he's staying here at least this semester," Brad replies, and Ray feels a little like he wants to crawl under the kitchen table and stay there.

"Cat!" Jamie yells. "Cat, cat!"

Brad's laughing. "If the cat comes around, I'll show you, okay Jamie?" 

Ray keeps his back to them, because he's not sure he can stand to see what Brad's face looks like right now. He stirs his coffee with more force than necessary for a minute.

As he's walking back to his room, Brad says, "Ray, plans today?"

"Studying some more at the library," Ray replies, not looking back at Brad. 

By the time Ray's gotten himself caffeinated, showered, and dressed, Brad's turned off his laptop and is nowhere in sight. Ray can hear the hum of the treadmill and thump of running footsteps, though, so Brad's probably on the porch. He thinks about yelling that he's leaving, or scribbling out a note, but instead he grabs his bag and goes. 

Juliet and Brandon meet him in their usual study room. Juliet leans her umbrella against the wall and starts unpacking her stuff, but Brandon looks at Ray with narrowed eyes. "You look bummed about something," he says. "Do you think the final's going to be that bad? Man, I hope not. No casualties, remember?"

"Nah, just…" Ray trails off, shrugging, not sure if any of it is worth mentioning. It's dumb, he knows, to crush on the dude who is practically his best friend at this point, who likely doesn't even remember trying to kiss Ray, and who is _clearly_ still horribly hung-up on the woman who dumped him a _decade_ ago. God, Ray's life is a fucking telenovela right now. 

Brandon's still giving him a look. "It's the shitty weather making me feel all mopey," Ray says firmly.

"Okay," Brandon says, clearly not believing what Ray's saying, but it's clear he's also not going to push. 

They get through the review packet and practice test before one; Ray's not sure how, exactly, other than Juliet only lets them out for a single coffee run. "You want to get lunch?" he asks when they're done, but both Brandon and Juliet shake their heads. 

"Sorry, I'm meeting Jenny and her mom about wedding stuff," Brandon says. 

"And I've got to be at work at the bank by two." Juliet scrunches up her nose, straightening out her cardigan and reaching for her jacket. "That gives me enough time to get through the drive-through. Sorry, Ray."

"No wonder you wouldn't let us slack off," Ray says, and she chuckles. "Okay, see you guys on Monday."

He thinks about going shopping to avoid going home, but he's not really in the mood, and maybe Brad's not even at the house anymore. He takes the long route despite the rain. Brad's truck hasn't moved. Whatever, Ray is an adult. He can use exercise to avoid his feelings like a normal person. 

Brad's still on the porch, now doing bicep curls. His shirt is damp with sweat. He looks up when Ray steps down into the room from the main house. "Hey."

"Hey."

Ray looks at the treadmill and decides he's not actually in the mood to run. Brad sets the weight he's using carefully on the floor and says, "If you wanted to use the bench-press, I can spot you."

That sounds fine to Ray. "Sure."

Neither of them speak as Ray does his sets, focusing on his counts and the burn in his arms and not on Brad looming over him. When the bar clinks down the last time, Brad says approvingly, "Nice, Ray."

"Thanks," Ray gasps. He sits up after a second. Then he blurts out, "Do you miss California?"

Brad blinks, but if he's surprised by the question, he recovers quickly. "Sometimes, yeah, I do."

Ray grabs one of the towels they keep stacked on a folding chair and pats down his face. "Like, your folks and stuff? I miss being able to just drive over to my mom's for whatever."

"They were about three hours away, when I was at Pendleton, so I didn't see them too often. But it was sure better than trying to get there to visit them, or get them here, across the country." Brad sits down on the other folding chair and leans down to do something to his shoe. "I don't know, Ray. There's some stuff I was - I guess not really _glad_ to leave behind, but - sort of."

Ray can guess what he's referring to, but doesn't say anything. 

"I guess I miss a few people," Brad says with a shrug. 

"Gee, Brad, that's pretty grown-up of you, the person who used to only have one friend."

Brad flips him off, the _shut up, Ray_ unspoken, but he's smiling.

*

Ray's half asleep on the couch, still in his school clothes and trying not to think about accounting formulas, when he hears the garage, then Brad's footsteps. He opens his eyes to see Brad leaning over him. "Was your final that bad?" Brad asks, raising his eyebrows. It looks sort of funny upside-down.

"Not bad, just long," Ray mumbles, rubbing his face with his hands. "So long. I thought my brain might drip slowly out of my ears."

Brad smiles, clearly not even bothering to make a joke. "Want to go out and get a drink?"

"Yes, please." Ray sits up. "Let me put on not-khakis though, okay?"

"I should change, too." Brad offers him a hand up off the couch, then claps Ray on the shoulder. His touch is warm. Ray tries not to think about it. "Hurry up."

"Fuck off."

Brad laughs at him and goes down the hallway to his room. Ray goes into his own bedroom, narrowly avoiding tripping over Mr. Fluffy, and swaps his slacks and button-down for jeans and one of the hoodies Brad got him for dealing with the voles. Brad comes out in jeans and a hoodie as well, although his is a plain navy sweatshirt. The outfit makes him look younger. Maybe it's just that Ray's used to seeing him in BDUs.

The bar they go to seems busy for a Tuesday, forcing them to weave through a crowd. Brad cups Ray's elbow to lead him through it, and Ray tenses instinctively, then tells himself to relax. It's still only Brad, even if Ray's crush is fucking idiotic, and his touch is warm and light; he's not gripping Ray tightly at all. 

There's a tiny table open close to the back. Brad pulls one of the chairs out for Ray, then says, "I'll run up to the bar, do you want anything in particular?"

Ray shakes his head. "Anything but shitty light beer."

"Hard liquor okay?"

"Sure." 

Brad disappears into the throng of people, and Ray takes the opportunity to look around. The place isn't well-lit, but there's enough light to see where you're going, and there are various neon signs hung above the bar. On the walls, he counts a bunch of posters that look like blown-up postcards, saying things like _Greetings from Sunny Hawaii!_ in front of a smiling hula girl and _Georgia, the Peach State_ over a bushel basket of the fruit.

He's trying to decide if this is the sort of place that looks like Brad would come here often, or if Brad only comes here because it's local and the music doesn't seem to be country - Ray knows that can be a rarity some places in the South, but this bar is currently playing The White Stripes and Ray can feel the bass vibrate through the floor - when Brad comes back with a rocks glass in each hand. "Manhattan?"

"That's great, thanks." 

Brad has to move his chair slightly to fit in, and they wind up nearly next to each other, instead of across. Ray can feel Brad's shoulder brushing his as he lifts his glass for a sip. "I didn't really take you for a Manhattan drinker," he says, mostly to make conversation.

"I like to try all the classics," Brad says with a shrug. He rubs a thumb over the outside of his glass. "Didn't Rudy try to tell us once it was important to be well-rounded?"

Ray looks at him sideways, because he now has so many questions, and also, he's pretty sure drinking wasn't what Rudy had in mind. "What about Cosmopolitans?"

"Shannon and I used to get disgustingly fucking drunk on Cosmos," Brad replies. He fishes the cherry out of his drink and Ray pretends he doesn't watch as Brad sucks the fruit off the stem. He's glad the lighting in the bar isn't all that bright. Brad asks, "How about you?"

"Have I -" Ray struggles for a second to remember the conversation. "Gotten grossly fucking drunk on girly pink drinks? Yes."

"Cheers to that." Brad touches his glass to Ray's.

That makes Ray laugh. "Okay, what about - uhhhh, Mai Tais?"

"I don't consider anything that could be served at a tiki bar to be a classic," Brad replies with a frown.

That's stupid. "Lame. Margarita?"

"Of course." Brad gives him the _you're an idiot, Ray_ look and takes another lingering sip of his drink. "What's next on your questionnaire - wait, let me guess: the daiquiri."

Ray grins at that. "Well, what's the answer?"

"A true daiquiri, yes. The mess made with fucking strawberry slush? An abomination."

"Shannon made you drink one like that once, didn't she?" Ray thinks that's the first time he's ever asked an actual question about Shannon out loud.

"Once," Brad grumbles, glaring in no one's direction. "It was summer, it was hot, and our options were limited."

Ray realizes he could probably get away with asking about Shannon and Jesse, and Brad might even answer. Maybe after another drink. He sips the Manhattan for a while. Then Brad leans slightly closer, presumably to be heard over the louder Bruce Springsteen song. His breath is warm on Ray's cheek. He asks, "Was that the end of that line of questioning?"

"That was all the girly drinks I could think of for the moment."

"Weak."

Ray raises his eyebrows. "Excuse me for not being a walking bartender's guide?"

Brad drains his glass and stands up. "Round two."

Ray starts to reach for his wallet but Brad's already slipped through a gap in the crowd, navy sweatshirt disappearing. "O-kay," he mutters. He leans back in the chair, swirling what's left of the drink around in his glass, thinking. If Brad wanted to actually get drunk, he could have done it at home, for less money and without having to drive an actual vehicle anywhere. 

He's sucking on the cherry when Brad comes back. "What's this?" Ray asks, as Brad slides another rocks glass carefully in front of him, this one with a pinkish-red liquid on ice. There's an orange rind sinking down.

"A Negroni."

Ray leans in slightly to sniff it. "I don't think I've ever had one."

"Well, cheers, then." Brad touches his glass lightly to Ray's. His other arm drapes along the back of Ray's chair, but doesn't touch Ray's shoulders.

The drink is bitter, but Ray thinks he's okay with that. The neon behind the bar fades into another shade of golden-orange, and Ray angles himself a little bit more towards Brad. "Can I ask you a personal question?" he says, keeping his gaze on Brad's face, watching for a flicker of something that will tell him this is a bad idea.

Instead, Brad looks at him evenly in reply, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "Yes?"

Ray takes another drink of the Negroni first. "You don't have to answer, okay. You don't. But - you always look so sad when you videochat with Shannon or Jesse, even though it's been a long time, and I'm just being nosy, okay, but - what _happened_?"

That wasn't exactly how he intended to ask it, but - close enough. He watches shadows ripple across the angles of Brad's face. The music changes again, he thinks it's maybe Ryan Adams. Brad looks down at his glass. Ray can feel him take a deep breath. "Can I tell you at home?" he asks, so quietly Ray can barely hear him, even this close. "I'll tell you, but it's too - too loud here."

Ray nods and can't stop nodding for like a minute. "Of course."

They lapse into silence, but it's not really uncomfortable, more contemplative, and Brad's tapping his fingertips on the table in time with the music. Then Ray hears someone yelling what sounds like his name, and sees a hand waving in the crowd of people by the bar. It's Chad, hand-in-hand with Reba. "Hey, I thought that was you!" he says. 

"Celebrating the end of finals, too, huh?" Ray asks. 

"Hell yeah." Chad grins, and Ray sees Reba roll her eyes. 

Brad reaches in the opposite direction from Ray and yanks another chair over, finding it somewhere in the shadows as if by magic. "Would you like to join us? If we can find one more chair."

Chad looks at Reba, who nods and says, "Sure, if you guys don't mind us interrupting."

"You're not interrupting. We've mostly been playing the cocktail version of 'Never Have I Ever'," Ray says. He holds up the Negroni. "Apparently I'm being schooled in the classics."

"I think my dad drinks those," Chad replies, nodding at Ray's glass, and Brad starts to laugh. 

"See, you always were the dad," Ray says to Brad, all fake sadness. 

"Shut up, Ray."

They get home late, for both of them, especially for a weeknight. Brad stopped drinking after the second round, but bought Ray another Manhattan and stole the cherry. Ray's probably going to dream about Brad sucking the cherry from the stem now, and wake up dry-mouthed and feeling awkward again. He drinks a glass of water at the kitchen sink with the cat sitting next to his feet. 

"Sorry you got left home alone," Ray murmurs to him, and dumps a scoop of kibble into his food dish. Mr. Fluffy, as always, immediately tips it halfway across the floor before starting to eat. "One of these days I'm going to get you a dish you can't knock over."

"Ray," Brad says. Ray looks up from watching the cat to see Brad leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "About Shannon."

"You don't have to do this now."

Brad wrinkles his nose, then rubs a hand over his face. "You told me stuff, so it's only - only fair, I guess, for me to tell you things, too."

Ray remembers Rudy's stupid cave art tarot card reading from months ago now, and that Brad heard it all, sitting at the kitchen table with his drone. He wonders if Brad's remembering it, too. "Maybe not standing in the middle of Mr. Fluffy's dinner?"

Brad looks down at the mess. "Oh."

Ray steps over all the cat food and takes the few steps across the hall into the living room to sit down on the loveseat, half of which is piled with his textbooks. He doesn't trust himself to sit on the couch next to Brad and not want to touch him. Drinking was probably a bad idea. 

Brad blinks for a few seconds like he's confused, then sinks down onto the sofa, on the side closest to Ray. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, gets out half a syllable, and stops. "You really don't have to -" Ray starts, but Brad holds up a hand.

"I guess there's no good way to say you slept with your ex again after she was your ex, right?"

Ray manages an "um", and also to keep his mouth closed and not gape. Brad rubs his temple. "Uh, more than once," he continues. 

Now it's Ray's turn to try to speak for a while before he can officially make words. "Like, after she got married? Did - does Jesse know?"

Brad coughs slightly, turning red. The lines around his mouth and eyes look tight. "Jesse was there."

Wow. This wasn't what Ray was expecting. "Damn, Brad."

"Yeah."

Ray has to think about that for a minute. Or maybe _not_ think about it. 

"I know you want to ask," Brad says in a dry voice, because of course he knows what Ray's thinking.

Ray snorts a laugh, then shakes his head. Then nods. "Okay, I totally want to know, but seriously, you don't have to tell me shit you don't feel comfortable talking about it, it's cool. I'm just nosy."

Brad tips his head back and blinks up at the ceiling, and Ray does his best not to look at the line of his neck, but it's not easy. Then Brad takes a breath - Ray sees his chest heave - and says in a strangled-sounding voice, "Jesse didn't only watch."

Ray realizes after a minute of stunned silence that he's probably the first person Brad's ever told this to. When he can make his mouth work in a way that is useful for words, he manages to stutter, "I, uh. Wow." Then, because he knows it's important to say, "Thanks for telling me."

When Brad stays quiet, Ray asks, "Did it end badly?"

"No." Brad shakes his head. "No. Or maybe. I don't fucking know how to describe it. It just - stopped. We slept together a couple times and then it just - I don't know, it never really came up again."

"And you guys never talked about it?"

Brad shakes his head again.

Ray's of the opinion that it was probably pretty shitty of Shannon and Jesse to not start a conversation, since it's not like Brad would bring it up himself, Ray totally knows that. He's not sure he wants to say that to Brad, though. So instead he says, "I'm glad you told me, man."

Brad turns slightly and meets Ray's gaze. His face is still flushed. "Ever since I eavesdropped on Rudy doing his tarot thing, and he was giving you shit about not sharing stuff, I've thought about it."

"It's kind of a big fucking secret to never tell anybody," Ray offers. "I mean, speaking as someone who knows what it's like to keep that sort of secret."

Brad nods. "Yeah."

Mr. Fluffy jumps up next to Ray and meows loudly. "Hey, cat. Done eating?" he says, and Mr. Fluffy pushes his head against Ray's arm until Ray gives in and pets him. 

"Hey, Ray?" Brad says.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're here." 

That makes Ray feel warmer inside than all of the alcohol he's had tonight, and he smiles at Brad. "Thanks."

*

Ray has no actual plans to do anything at all for Christmas, just that he's going to call his mom in the afternoon, maybe drink some spiked cocoa and watch that stop-motion claymation Rudolph thing with Burl Ives if it's on television. He's gotten the cat some holiday-style catnip toys, and when he finally gets out of bed in the morning, he gets them down from the shelf in his closet. The tiny bells make jingling noises and Mr. Fluffy comes running in to investigate. "What up, cat," Ray says, and tosses one of the little tree-shaped things into the air. Mr. Fluffy pounces on it as it lands. Ray watches him roll around happily for a second before pulling on a pair of socks and going out of the room.

Brad's at the stove with his back to the doorway, doing something with a large frying pan and a bunch of chopped-up things on the cutting board that's on the counter. "What are you making?" Ray asks, walking up to look around Brad's side.

"Omelets. Can you get out plates and stuff for us?"

"You're making me one, too?"

Brad gives him a look. He's wearing actual matching pajamas and there are pillowcase creases on his cheek; Ray's more than a little charmed by the overall effect. "Of course I am. I might not celebrate it, but it is Christmas."

Ray asked a few days ago if Brad did anything for Hanukkah, or wanted to do anything, but Brad shook his head and said it wasn't really his thing these days, and asked if Ray wanted to do anything for Christmas. "Doesn't really matter to me," Ray said, "as long as I give the cat his presents."

Brad didn't bother stifling his laughter at that.

Brad smiles at him now, and Ray can't help but smile back. His stomach does a weird swooping thing. He's sure that if he wasn't here, Brad would be eating peanut butter toast again. "Wow. Thanks."

He takes out plates and silverware as Brad adds the crumbled bacon and breakfast sausage, onions and tomatoes, and cheese to the omelet. "That looks pretty fucking professional, dude," Ray says, as Brad slides a half onto each plate. 

"Amazing what happens when you put forth actual effort. There are pancakes staying warm in the oven, if you could grab them?"

"Pancakes," he repeats dumbly, and Brad smiles again. Brad is _full_ of hidden depths today; this is not helping Ray's stupid crush.

They eat at the kitchen table for once, since it's clear of Ray's usual mess of homework and Brad's random electronics. "Did you put the drone away for the holidays, or what?" Ray asks, in between bites of pancakes. They're good. He's going to have to talk Brad into making them more often. 

"I finished it," Brad says with a smile.

"Dude. Did you try it without me? Come on, Brad, you can't spy on the neighbors without me." 

"No, I didn't try it yet. And we have very insipid neighbors, you're aware of this."

It's true; Ray's hardly said more than a dozen words to the neighbors since he moved in. He thinks the people to the south have a couple kids, but they looked to be teenagers the two or three times he saw them. "Yeah, I guess."

"We could fly it around the state park a little, once the weather stops being shitty." 

"Suppose it won't work so well in the rain," Ray says, nodding mostly to himself. He takes another bite of the omelet as Brad gets up to refill his coffee mug, then brings the pot over to refill Ray's. "Thanks. I'll wash up, since you cooked."

Brad waves his fork back and forth before jabbing it into his stack of pancakes. "Just throw it all in the dishwasher, that's what it's for."

"You know I never lived anywhere with a dishwasher before I moved in here? Old habits die hard, I guess."

"All old apartment buildings?" Brad guesses.

Ray nods. "The place in the Ozarks was _so_ seventies. It came furnished, so we had a plaid couch. And a tan leather chair. They didn't match worth shit. I thought Wes was going to have an aneurysm every time he looked at it the first couple weeks we lived there." 

Brad is making a disgusted face and Ray can't decide if it's in regards to the furniture or Ray mentioning Wes. He attempts to kick Brad under the table, but it ends up more of a push of his socked foot against Brad's leg. "Dude. Eat your pancakes before I do."

Brad takes a few more bites. Then he says, "I know we haven't talked about it yet - what are you doing next semester?"

"Um." Ray hasn't really thought about it. As long as Brad is cool with it, he would rather stay here, and not spend the next two weeks hurrying to look for an apartment. He's kept an eye on listings but there haven't been many pet-friendly places in his price range.

Brad keeps talking. "I mean, this is working out in satisfactory manner, yes? You might as well not worry about finding an apartment. That seems like an unnecessary effort. Besides, I think Mr. Fluffy likes it here."

Ray leans back in his chair so he can look through the doorway, and sees the cat rolling on the living room floor with the catnip toy. The little bell jingles. "I think so, too."

Brad gives him an expectant look. "So you'll be staying."

"As long as it's cool with you."

"Ray. I would have told you to your face to move out if this wasn't working." Brad takes a drink of his coffee and stares at Ray over the rim of his mug, almost like he's daring Ray to argue with that.

Ray's not about to argue anything. "Great."

He checks his email after loading the dishwasher. There's the annual family newsletter from his aunt, despite there never being much family news. "Oh, my cousin got engaged at Thanksgiving," he says, mostly to no one, sprawled out on the couch with another cup of coffee and the cat flopped across his legs. 

"That's nice," Brad says, not looking up from the whatever he's rewiring. 

Ray squints at it, then sits up slightly. "Is that a record player?"

"Yes. The power cord is fucking fucked, though, so I'm just…" Brad trails off, doing something with a needle-nose pliers. 

Ray gets the idea. "That's cool. Wait, you have your stupid Barry Manilow albums on vinyl?"

Brad flashes him a bright smile. Ray shakes his head and goes back to his email. 

"What else is happening in the Person family?" Brad asks. 

"What? Oh. Well, according to Aunt Jackie, my uncle's going to retire in June so he can spend all his time going to car races - don't even say it, Brad - and my cousin Abby is the one who's getting married, uh, looks like sometime at the end of summer. Jackie says she's marrying a dude with an environmental sciences degree, they met at Wichita State."

Brad sniffs. "Sounds like that means he's unemployed."

"Probably." Ray reads through the rest of the email, but it's mostly Aunt Jackie talking about who did or didn't put up a Christmas tree this year, and a couple of Ray's other cousin Bobby's tall tales from ringing the Salvation Army bell at Wal-Mart for three weeks. 

Brad fiddles with the record player for a while longer, then sets it on the coffee table with a muttered curse. "Not having any luck?" Ray asks.

"I'll bend it to my will eventually," Brad says, frowning at it. "Anyway, time for presents." He strides off down the hall towards his bedroom.

Ray blinks. "...presents?" 

He sets his laptop aside and carefully dislodges Mr. Fluffy, then goes to his own room, where he's got the Sharper Image box stashed under the bed. He's still not sure the tiny robot isn't an epically stupid gift, but everything else he'd come up with, Brad already owns or else doesn't have any need at all for. 

It's not wrapped, but he doubts Brad will care. He goes back out to the living room. Brad's holding a plain red gift bag, which he thrusts in Ray's direction. "This is large," Ray says, trading him for the robot box. 

Brad stares down at it for a minute. "Is this really a robot or did you just hide like, socks in the box like my mother used to?"

"Who does that to their kids? I'm telling your mom she's mean next time I see her," Ray answers. He sits down on the couch and looks in the gift bag. There are a number of lumps covered in wrinkled white tissue paper. 

Brad, meanwhile, has freed the small robot from the styrofoam and is scrutinizing it carefully. "You're slow, Ray."

Ray flips him off. "I like to take my time, enjoy the moment." He shoves the tissue paper out of the way and pulls out a bright red sweater with a Christmas tree on it. The tree has beads and little bells sewn onto it. It jingles when Ray shakes it and Mr. Fluffy looks up, intrigued.

"That one's mostly a joke," Brad says. 

Ray pulls it over his head and grins at Brad. "It's great."

Brad smiles back. "The rest are more practical. I hope you don't mind that I snooped on what you already have to get the sizes."

Ray unwraps two pairs of khakis identical to the ones he already owns, a gray and green plaid button-down with long sleeves, and a red and blue one with short sleeves. "I wasn't sure on the last one there," Brad says. "There's a gift receipt if you don't like it."

"Brad, this is all great," Ray breathes. He reaches over and punches Brad lightly in the shoulder. "You didn't need to get me all this."

"You didn't need to get me a robot child." Brad pushes the on button and the robot wheels around on top of the coffee table. He grabs it before it rolls off the edge, grinning. 

"I figured you could hack it to sweep or bring you coffee or something."

"Oh, wait, I got you one more thing. I'll be right back." 

Brad hands Ray the robot and Ray blinks after him, then looks down at the machine. It's beeping. Ray waves his hand in front of it, and the little arm follows his movements, whirring. 

A small wrapped box appears over his shoulder, then Brad takes the robot back. Ray slides his thumb under the tape, popping it off, and unfolds the paper. Through the clear plastic, he can see that it's a watch. A clearly not from Kmart watch. It has shiny bits and subdials. He might lose his breath a little bit, and he has to cough before he can get out, "Brad, man."

"Shut up, Ray."

Ray glances up and sees Brad's worrying his thumbnail, staring down at Ray's hands as he fumbles the box open. That makes Ray fumble more, feeling himself turn red, and Brad huffs and plucks the box from his nervous fingers. He pops the top of it off. Then he grabs the multitool he had out to work on the record player and cuts the stupid plastic ties. "Give me your wrist."

Ray holds up his arm. Brad's hands are warm as he buckles the watch around Ray's wrist. "There. Looks good."

The grey metal mesh band is soft against his skin and Ray can't help but touch it. "This is too much."

"You're taking it," Brad says, in the voice that means Ray better not argue with him. 

Ray sits there for a second not knowing what else to say, other than to thank Brad again. Brad squeezes his shoulder. "You're welcome. Do you think we can get the robot to make us drinks?"

After an hour, they decide the robot can't be hacked to actually bartend, but it can carry small cups on the little tray that came with it, so Brad directs it around the kitchen with a scoop of cat food on the tray as Mr. Fluffy hides behind Ray's legs. "I don't think he's actually scared of it," Ray says. "I think he's more scared of the maniacal look on your face."

"Shut up." Brad rolls the robot slowly to a stop. He taps another button on his phone, and the robot dumps the cat food into Mr. Fluffy's bowl. "Ha! Success."

Ray shakes his head. "Okay, I'm calling my mom, and you're going to make me hot chocolate with the peppermint schnapps from the bottle I hid under the sink for holiday times, and then we're going to watch some old-school claymation Rudolph. Sound good?"

"Sure." Brad picks up the robot and sets it on the counter. "Hey. Merry Christmas, Ray."

"Merry Christmas, Brad."

*

There's a car in the driveway when Ray gets back from his Publix run, getting ready for New Year's. It looks like Gabriella's blue Ford Escort, but Ray's not sure what Gaby would be doing here. "Hello?" he calls as he opens the front door.

"We're in the kitchen," Brad replies. 

Once Ray gets inside, he can see Brad and Gaby at the kitchen table, each with a mug of something. Gaby's eyes are red and there's a box of Kleenex next to her. "You okay, Gaby?" Ray asks, putting his bags all down at once so he can come around to her side of the table and hug her. "Did something happen?"

"No, no, I'm just being stupid emotional," she says, laughing and sniffling at the same time. "I tried to go for a drive to stop my worrying and ended up here, and I hoped you were home but your Brad was instead."

"We had a nice cup of tea," Brad says. "Want one, Ray?"

"Sure." 

Brad gets up and Ray slides into his vacant chair. "Was he at least a good pseudo-therapist?" he whispers, and Gaby laughs again. 

"Yes, he is a very good listener." She blots at her face with a tissue. "Sorry, I was at home unpacking a box Pablo's godmother sent to us and it really hit me that I'm having a baby in February. And then I started thinking, what if I'm a crappy mom? What if I don't love the baby like everyone keeps telling me I will? And telling myself, Gabriella, it will all be fine, just wasn't working."

She takes a deep breath. Ray reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. "You feel better now? If you need to cuddle, the cat is around here somewhere, and he'll grin and bear it."

That earns him a sniffly chuckle. "That's okay, I do feel better."

Brad sets a steaming mug down in front of Ray. "Really, there is no way you'll be a crappy mom, Gaby," Ray tells her. "Because you're not a crappy person. I have known plenty of shitty people who shouldn't have been raising kids, and they were all shitty as people way before the kids came along. Plus, you and Pablo want this baby, right?"

Gaby's eyes are wide. "Of course!"

Ray waves his hand. "There you go."

"Was that meant to be comforting, Ray?" Brad asks. "Because, honestly…"

"Shut up, Brad," Ray says without heat, and Gaby stifles a laugh. 

"Gaby, you want more tea?" Brad asks.

She shakes her head. "No, I should go anyway. I do need to stop at Wal-Mart for some paint; I'm stencilling little animals on the wall in the baby's room, elephants and zebras and that sort of thing. It's cute."

"It sounds cute." Ray helps her up from the table and walks her out to her car. 

She opens the driver's side door, then turns and says, "Ray. Tell Brad thanks for me, okay? He could have said you weren't home, and not invited me in. It was really nice of him."

"He only pretends to be heartless," Ray answers with a smile.

"He's far from heartless. He's a good man." She squeezes his arm and gets into the car. 

Ray waves as she backs out of the driveway, watching to be sure she gets to the main road before he goes back inside. Brad's standing at the sink, drinking a glass of water. "Sorry," Ray says, and Brad's eyes widen as he shakes his head.

"About what?" He puts the glass in the dishwasher. "That was definitely the most exciting part of my day. It was academic testing today at work; I spend the afternoon staring at paperwork. _Grading tests_ , Ray," he complains, as if he doesn't have to do this every three weeks or so.

Ray laughs at him. "It's hard to be you."

"There's one Army private who is going to get recycled if he can't get his rig sorted correctly the next time we check him on it." Brad rubs his face. "Some people should not jump out of airplanes."

"There are plenty of people who think we're nuts for jumping out of airplanes," Ray says. He thinks about it for a second. "I don't know if I could remember all the shit that was on those tests anymore. Please do not draft me into the paratroopers when the zombies come, okay?"

"No, I would put you in charge of communications," Brad replies right away, as though he doesn't even have to give the idea any thought at all. 

Ray grabs the bags of groceries he abandoned on the floor and starts putting things away. "What are you doing for New Year's Eve? And don't say you're going to Richmond's, or whoever that was for Thanksgiving."

"No, I didn't have plans. Do you watch all that ball drop shit?" Brad shakes his head. He takes the bread from Ray's hands and puts it away. "So fucking lame."

"Wow, you miser. Just for that, I'm getting party hats and glueing one to your head, and tying you up in front of the television."

Brad stares at him. And stares at him some more, until Ray starts to feel a little bit hot, and like he's not going to be able to grin and wave Brad off like he usually does. He clears his throat and makes himself move, makes himself keep putting the groceries away. "So uh, I got champagne and those frozen appetizer things you bake in the oven. You don't have to partake, if you really think it's lame." 

"Food and drink, fine. Countdown bullshit, I'd rather skip it." There's a long pause, then Brad asks, "Want to go out on the bike with me for a while? It's not full dark yet."

Ray nearly drops the box of spaghetti, but recovers. He puts it in the correct cupboard. "Uh, sure."

"Excellent. Put your Converse on."

It's when Ray's tying the laces of the hi-tops that he realizes riding on the motorcycle with Brad means he'll probably have to hold on to Brad. Whatever, he's an adult, he can deal with this dopey crush. Brad hasn't mentioned the Thanksgiving incident - Ray can't stop thinking of it as an _incident_ ; he also can't stop thinking about it in general - so maybe he was so wasted he doesn't even remember. That's what Ray's going to stick with for now.

He pulls on a jacket over his hoodie and zips up; Brad hands him leather gloves and a helmet in the garage. "You ever ridden on a motorcycle before?" he asks Ray, raising his eyebrows.

"It's been a couple years, my cousin Bobby had one for a while."

"Okay. I'll get on first, and you can either use the passenger footrest - here - to get on, or use my shoulder. I don't have a backrest on this beast, so just put your arms around my waist, okay?" He waits for Ray to nod before continuing with, "When we go around corners, you don't have to lean with me. If you look over my inside shoulder, that'll keep you neutral. I won't accelerate as fast as I do when it's only me, so you don't slide backwards, but hold on with your legs. Hit my shoulder if you need us to stop, for any reason, no matter what the reason is. Got it?"

"Got it."

Brad swings his leg over the bike and settles himself on the seat. "Your turn," he says, and puts on his helmet.

Ray gets on, putting his feet on the pegs, then slides the helmet down over his head and buckles it underneath his chin before he tugs on the gloves. Brad turns and gives him a thumbs up. Ray gives the same in reply, and Brad starts the bike. 

As promised, Brad speeds up gradually, but Ray still feels the force pushing him backwards, and has to keep his legs pressed tight to the bike. He can feel every shift Brad makes since his chest is snug to Brad's back, but given the layers of clothing between them, it's not as torturous as Ray was thinking it would be.

He's not sure where they're headed, but Brad seems to be aiming south, maybe for the long roads that stretch uninterrupted alongside the western part of Benning. After a few minutes, Ray feels himself relax. The rumble of the bike is oddly soothing, and Brad is clearly beyond capable at handling the machine. As they roll up to the western edge of the base, there's no one else on the road, and Brad slows to a stop, putting his feet flat on the ground. He flips up his visor and says loudly, "You still okay?"

"I'm great," Ray replies easily. 

Brad smiles and reaches back to squeeze his knee, and Ray's stomach flip-flops. "Wanna go faster?"

"This is why your insurance is outrageous," Ray says, and Brad smiles wider. 

"I'll have you know, Ray, that I haven't gotten a speeding ticket in four years now."

"I don't believe that for a minute." Ray pushes his visor down again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half will be up shortly. :-)


	2. Chapter 2

After almost three weeks off, going back to school and work at the same time is going to send Ray to an early grave, or at the least, an early Friday night bedtime. He's yawning as he changes into sweatpants and the cranberry striped hoodie, jamming his hands into the pocket as he goes into the kitchen. 

He's staring into the fridge, three seconds from totally zoning out, when Brad comes into the house through the garage door. "Don't let all the cold air out," Brad says dryly, undoing his boots.

"Huh?" Ray says, then blinks. "Sorry, my brain is pretty fried right now." 

"That bad?"

"Nah, just a lot of stuff all at once. And here I got all used to chilling the last few weeks." Ray moves a few containers of things and finds some sliced cheese from the deli that looks mold-free. "I think I'm just going to make a grilled cheese; you want one?"

"Sure."

Ray unhooks the frying pan from its place on the wall and sets it on the stove. Then he remembers the butter is on the opposite counter and spins around to get it, but he doesn't realize Brad's _right there_ and his elbow smacks into the sturdy handle of the pan, sending a wave of pain through his arm and sending the pan spinning weirdly off the stovetop. He and Brad both grab for it at the same time, trying to catch the pan before it hits the floor, but it clatters loudly to the linoleum. 

Brad comes to a stop three inches from Ray's face, his hands braced on the countertop on either side of Ray's waist. He stares at Ray, his blue eyes wide. His breath is audible in the sudden silence; he's close enough that Ray can feel the warmth of it huff across his cheek. 

"You kissed me on Thanksgiving," Ray blurts out. Oh, fuck, he didn't mean to say that. And Brad is _too close_ , way too close. Ray can feel the heat radiating off him. 

"I know," Brad says, but it's more a movement of his mouth than audible words. He doesn't seem to be blinking. He looks over at the pan on the floor, then at Ray again. He doesn't back away, his hands still clutching the edge of the countertop.

The spot between Ray's shoulder blades begins to itch and he can feel himself start to sweat. "Wait, wait, wait, you _remember_? You were fucking smashed. Blitzed. Three sheets to the wind. You drank like half a bottle of tequila." He knows he's rambling, takes a deep breath, and asks, "Jesus fucking Christ, Brad, why didn't you say anything?"

"I was afraid you'd fucking leave, that's why," Brad says, and Ray gapes at him some more. Brad leans in slightly and the counter creaks under his hands. "Don't deny you've been a flight risk since you got here."

Ray's heart is beating wildly. Brad's got him backed up against the countertop and he doesn't know what to do with his hands and he does want to run, just a little. Maybe a lot; he's not sure. "I - you -" 

"You didn't say anything, either," Brad points out, his voice suddenly hoarse. He steps back, then picks up the frying pan. "I don't know what - fuck this, I need to get out of the house. You want to get out of the house? Let's go to the batting cages."

"Okay," Ray whispers, because what else is he going to say? It's late and the weather isn't exactly the greatest for hitting baseballs, but the kitchen is suddenly fucking stifling, and it's not like Brad's running away from him; Brad wants him to _come with_. "Okay," he says again, because Brad's looking at him like he didn't quite hear Ray the first time. 

Brad changes out of his BDUs while Ray stands in the living room feeling a weird sort of numb with anticipation, or something. They drive to the batting cages in silence. Ray watches Brad's hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, while Brad glares out the windshield at the road, not looking at Ray even once. When they arrive, he pays the bored-looking attendant for a handful of tokens. "You want first go?" he asks Ray, choosing a bat from the rack.

What Ray wants is to know what's going on in Brad's head. "You can go ahead."

Brad drops a token into the machine and walks to the plate, so Ray moves out of the likely pitch zone as the machine starts up. Brad's immediately focused on the baseballs punching out, and Ray takes the chance to really look at him; the planes of his face, the shift of his back muscles under his shirt, his hands around the bat - no, Ray doesn't think about those hands touching him - and the line of his thigh as he swings up under the ball. 

He thinks about the soft press of Brad's mouth on Thanksgiving and the solid weight of him asleep against Ray's side, and wishes he knew what it all meant. 

Brad's token runs out and Ray steps in to take his turn. He's never been great at baseball, but whacking at the ball is surprisingly effective in clearing his head. Brad calls out a tip here and there, and comes up once to touch Ray's shoulder and fix his stance a tiny bit. Ray's pretty sure he imagines the lingering heat of Brad's hand. His next swing misses entirely. "You'll get the next one," Brad calls. Ray flips him off.

When Brad goes in again, Ray leans against the fence a little, watching the sky get darker and watching Brad's hips rotate with each swing. How long has he legitimately wanted to get Brad in bed? At least since Brad kissed him. Maybe before. Ray's not entirely sure; there's no exact moment he can look at and say, _here is where I stopped thinking about Brad in one way and started thinking about him in another_.

"Hey Brad," he calls when Brad's token runs out. "I need to ask you a question."

At Brad's nod, Ray takes a deep breath and says, "When you kissed me. Did you mean it?"

Brad stares at him for so long that Ray starts to worry he won't answer the question at all. "Brad?"

Brad nods. Then nods some more. Then he drops the bat with a clatter and crowds Ray back against the fence, and all Ray can think about is that the metal is cold where it's touching bare skin along his wrists. He curls his fingers in the chain, then makes himself let go, because it's dumb, this is only _Brad_ , and he's warm all along Ray's front as he looks at Ray. 

"I meant it," he says, just as Ray is wondering if everyone's forgotten English. "I still mean it."

Ray swallows, tells himself to be brave. "Then do it again."

Brad cups his face and kisses him, his mouth hot and demanding for a few seconds, definitely not long enough. He holds Ray's gaze as he pulls away. "I think we should go home before I kiss you any more than that," he says, and his voice is rough.

Ray realizes his hands are now fisted in Brad's shirt, and he makes himself let go. "Yeah, okay."

"I want to." 

Brad presses him against the fence again for a moment and Ray feels a little shaky. He says, "Let's go then."

The drive back is the longest drive of Ray's life. Longer than Mathilda to Baghdad. Longer than Missouri to Georgia. His breath sounds too loud in his ears and his palms are sweaty. Brad keeps glancing over at him. "Please watch the road," Ray says, voice faint.

"I am."

"You're not."

"I promise, I won't crash the car before I can get your clothes off," Brad says. Ray shivers in the seat.

Brad gets the truck in the garage and slams his hand on the remote to close the door as Ray nearly trips jumping out of the passenger seat. Brad looks at him hotly as he opens the door to the house, and Ray's heart trips in his throat. "God, get inside," Brad growls. His hands land at Ray's waist, pushing the hem of his hoodie up to touch Ray's stomach. 

Ray has to sidestep quickly to avoid falling over the cat, yelling, "Not now, Mr. Fluffy," as he turns to yank Brad in to kiss him. Brad laughs into his mouth, grabbing Ray's hip to steady them both. They stand kissing sloppily in the kitchen until Ray slides his hand around to squeeze Brad's ass through his slippery track pants. "Brad."

"Huh?" Brad kisses under Ray's chin. His shampoo smells like lemon, and Ray also gets a whiff of sweat and Brad's woodsy aftershave.

"...go someplace other than the kitchen?"

"Yes." 

They stumble down the hallway - Ray finds it's hard to walk when you're still trying to keep your hands on someone - and into Brad's bedroom. Ray finds himself pushed down onto the bed by his shoulders, and Brad climbs on top of him, ducking for another kiss before stopping suddenly, breath warm against Ray's cheek. 

"What is it?" Ray asks, his heart sinking, because Brad's about to come to his senses and slink away, probably go ride his bike a million miles in the dark.

"We still have our shoes on," Brad answers. It's so unexpected that Ray starts to laugh. 

Brad slides off him to the side and leans over to untie his shoes, while Ray toes his off and winds up kicking them halfway across the room to thunk against the wall. "There, no shoes," Ray says. He scoots backwards on the bed so he's not so close to the edge, pulling his hoodie up and off. 

Brad wraps a warm hand around Ray's ankle. "You want to do this, right?"

"Would I be undressing in your bed if I didn't? Of course I want to do this," Ray says, reaching out to grab Brad's upper arm and pull him in. He bites at Brad's mouth before kissing him again, listening for any sound Brad might make, any swift intake of breath. But Brad's oddly silent even as Ray palms his thigh and slides it upwards, carefully tracing the outline of Brad's dick through his clothes. 

He stops and pulls back just enough to look Brad in the eye. "Still okay?"

"Yes." Brad kisses the side of his neck. "Just not sure how to go about this."

Ray pushes himself up on one elbow. "I thought you said you'd…?"

"Jesse was there, yeah, but his blowjob skills were - well, amateur, to say the least. And the closest I really got to his dick was when I went down on Shannon while he fucked her."

"Fuck," Ray breathes, because he can picture that, and even though it's not right at all to think about Brad's best friends naked and having sex, it's really goddamn hot. Ray feels himself heat up even more thinking about it. "Well. I think I can do better on the blowjob front, does that work for you?"

Brad's exhale comes out something close to a groan, his face completely red. He nods. Ray grins and slides down the bed.

*

_I did something I probably shouldn't have_ , Ray texts to Brandon, still groggy with sleep, not sure if he even wants to drag himself out of bed. His own bed; he left Brad nearly asleep in his room last night after they'd both gotten off, saying he wanted to clean up.

_let me guess: you cheated on something, or you slept with your roommate_

Ray squints at the screen. It's not like his friends haven't all thought it for months now, which makes Ray wonder just how weirdly obvious he and Brad were. Or maybe oblivious was a better word. 

_option B_ , he writes back, before he pushes himself up onto his elbows and leans against the pillows. Mr. Fluffy jumps up onto the bed next to him and makes a little meeping noise. "Hey, buddy," Ray says, scooping the cat up and settling him on his lap. 

Mr. Fluffy starts kneading Ray's knee as his phone lights up again. _fucking finally, man._

Ray's not sure how to respond to that. He eventually settles on just _yeah_ , and leaves it at that. 

"Did you get breakfast?" he asks the cat, then rubs his head. Mr. Fluffy makes a protesting sort of sound, but doesn't run away. "Come on, let's go look."

There's kibble in the bowl and on the floor, so clearly Brad fed him, but Brad is nowhere to be found in the house. It's Saturday, so he's definitely not at work. Ray checks the garage and sees that his bike is gone. "Well. Okay," Ray mutters to himself. He should probably get caught up on readings, then do the Financial Management problem sets he's got due on Tuesday. But maybe a run first. He feels oddly jittery all of a sudden, even without coffee, and the feeling lasts through eating a Powerbar, changing into his running clothes, and the whole first mile of his regular route. 

After another mile, Ray feels like he's starting to even out, and can take a slightly more critical look at the night before. He hates to think it, because it's totally a cliche, but so much of Brad's weird behavior the last few months makes actual sense now, knowing that Brad wanted to hook up. Ray's still a little miffed that Brad remembered kissing him and didn't say anything, though.

He cuts his route a little shorter than usual and heads back to the house after five miles instead of eight. Mr. Fluffy meows his displeasure at Ray leaving, jumping up onto the back of the couch and giving Ray a rather disdainful look. "What, are you mad your BFF Brad isn't here?" Ray asks, reaching out to pet him.

Mr. Fluffy jumps down again and runs into Brad's room. Ray shakes his head. He puts a pot of coffee on, and goes to shower while it brews. When he walks naked out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair with the towel, Brad's standing in the kitchen. He looks Ray up and down, slowly, and the spoon he's stirring his coffee with clacks loudly against the side of the mug. 

"Sorry, I'll get dressed," Ray starts to say, ignoring the rush of heat that goes through him at Brad's attention. 

"Wait." Brad's voice is hoarse.

Ray pauses in wrapping the towel around his waist. "Wait for what?"

Brad puts his mug on the counter and walks toward him. He puts his hand on Ray's stomach. "Can I?" he asks, curling his fingers against the towel. 

Ray lets him tug it away, his mouth going dry. "Sure."

"I didn't get to look like I wanted to last night," Brad says, and Ray's pretty sure he's seeing his life flash before his eyes, because he's going to die. "But I don't - I don't really know what I want to do."

Ray's legs are going to give out. That, or he's going to pop a boner right here in the hall. "Do you at least know if we're going to continue standing in the hallway?" he manages to ask.

In reply, Brad grabs his wrist and pulls him over to the couch, where he spreads Ray's damp towel over the cushions before nudging Ray to lie down. He looks down at Ray for a second, his face red, before covering Ray's body with his own. Ray shudders at the feel of Brad's skin-warmed clothes: jeans soft enough that they must be old, and one of his waffle-textured henleys. Ray can feel all the dips and ridges.

Brad's thigh rubs over his cock and the soft fabric feels so good that Ray wants to roll his hips, press upward to get more friction, but he holds himself still, figuring this is one of those times he needs to let Brad do what Brad wants. Which seems to be kissing first - Ray's down with that; he's glad he brushed his teeth, since Brad is now tentatively exploring Ray's mouth with his tongue. Lying still is a good choice, Ray thinks, as Brad brings the hand he's not using to brace himself against the back of the couch to touch light fingertips to Ray's neck, then the line of Ray's collarbone. Ray shivers and skims his teeth over Brad's bottom lip, breaking the kiss enough to breathe, because he really needs to breathe. 

"Ray," Brad whispers, but doesn't seem inclined to actually finish that thought, if there was even a thought to begin with. 

Ray's dick has been getting harder the more they make out, and he twitches against Brad's thigh, groaning. Brad huffs a laugh against his neck and slides his hand down Ray's stomach to curl his fingers around Ray's dick, making him twitch again. "Is this okay?" Brad asks, and Ray nods hurriedly.

Brad jerks him off rather leisurely, Ray supposes, for two dudes kind of squished onto a sofa. Ray's not complaining, though; were it any less leisurely he'd have to tell Brad to find lube and he doesn't want Brad to stop. Not when Brad's face is tucked against Ray's neck and Ray can feel him shaking slightly. 

Carefully, Ray lifts his arm and scratches his fingers through Brad's hair against his scalp. "It's good," he whispers. Brad makes a small noise and his grip tightens slightly, and Ray lifts his hips, pushing his cock through the circle of Brad's fingers, groaning as he does.

"Don't go any tighter, or I'll need lube," he manages to say.

Brad lifts his head head slightly, murmuring,"I could get it." 

"No, don't stop."

Brad rubs his thumb slowly around the tip of Ray's dick, circling the slit, making Ray whine in the back of his throat. Then Brad lifts his hand and licks his palm. "Better?" he whispers once he's touching Ray again.

Ray nods. "Good choice."

Brad keeps it slow, until Ray's sweating. "You gonna let me come or what," he pants. "God, Brad, you're -"

"Hmm?" Brad breathes, a vibration against Ray's skin, and at that Ray shudders and comes. Brad strokes him through it, but stops once Ray twitches, over-sensitive. He wipes his hand on the towel, then rests his palm on Ray's thigh for a second.

Ray blinks up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. "Next time you ambush me for a handjob, bring some lotion," he says when he can form words again.

He rolls slightly to the right to see that Brad's now on his back on the floor, palming his clearly interested dick through his jeans. "Noted," Brad mutters. 

"Want me to help you out with that?"

"Mm, I'm good." Brad slides his hand beneath his waistband, then swears and unzips his jeans with the other hand. Ray hooks his chin over the edge of the sofa and watches. Brad jerks himself off almost methodically. Clearly, he knows what works for him, so Ray catalogs all he can: when it's a slow pull from the base, when Brad speeds his hand, when he rubs his thumb back and forth over the wet red tip, and when his breath goes ragged.

Ray remembers suddenly having to find Brad, more than once, in the shitters at Mathilda and _knowing_ Brad was in there jerking off. The memory of trying to ignore it then washes over him, heated now that he's actually watching, now that he knows where the high flush settles in Brad's face. Knows Brad bites at his bottom lip in a way that looks almost painful as he comes, spunk hitting his stomach where his shirt is shoved up.

Ray squirms a little against the towel, feeling hot all over all over again. 

"You okay?" Brad asks after a few minutes of silence.

"Me? Yeah. I do feel like I should shower again, though."

"Sorry."

Ray looks down at him again; Brad hasn't moved. "Definitely nothing to be sorry for, dude."

Brad's gaze slides down his body, hot as a touch, lingering on Ray's soft cock. Then he sits up and leans in to kiss Ray, opening his mouth immediately, his tongue curling along Ray's. "Brad," Ray whispers, when the kiss breaks so they can breathe, "when did you get laid last, before last night?"

"It's been, um…" Brad clears his throat. "Yeah, a while."

"Like, more than a year?"

Brad shakes his head. "No, not that long. I went home with a girl I met at the bar, a couple weeks before you moved in."

Ray nods. "I should finish getting dressed," he says, then laughs at himself. "Once I take another fucking shower."

"You can duck in with me, if you want to rinse off," Brad offers. He gets up from the floor, his jeans still open, then gives Ray a hand up. "Do you have somewhere you need to be today?"

"I gotta work noon to five at Sodaco." Ray turns and grabs the towel from the couch, so he can toss it in the laundry, and also because it would be gross if he just left it there and Mr. Fluffy laid on it.

They don't do anything in the shower besides kiss lazily for so long the hot water starts to run out and Ray starts to worry he's going to be late for work. Brad makes them each a sandwich wearing only shorts while Ray gets dressed in actual clothes. "This really isn't fair that I have to go to work," he grumbles in between quick bites of turkey and swiss.

Brad doesn't argue that; he does kiss Ray goodbye.

*

He beats Brad home the following Friday night, and is standing in the kitchen with a drink in his hand, wondering what to have for dinner, when Brad walks in. They haven't fucked around again, but they made out on the couch Wednesday night, and things have been more comfortable than awkward. So far, Ray's not too worried they've screwed anything up.

Brad's footsteps sound unusually heavy and Ray turns to look at him, questioning. "What's wrong?" he asks, because from the sour look on Brad's face, there's definitely something wrong. 

"What are you drinking?"

"One part vodka, one part gin, one part this fancy vermouth bianco I just got at the store," Ray answers, and Brad lifts the glass from his hand and takes a mouthful. "On the rocks because neither one of us owns actual cocktail glasses worth chilling. I had to shake it in a fucking mason jar." 

He pauses, blinks. "Cocktail glasses. That might be the gayest thing I have ever said."

Brad wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, ignoring Ray's comment. "That's - good. Sweet, but. I think I like it."

"I could make you one," Ray suggests dryly, as Brad finishes his off. "Or I guess each of us one."

"Yes, make more, I'm in the mood," Brad says, and leans in to kiss him briefly, mouth soft and with one hand light on Ray's chest. "I'll go change."

"Okay." Ray watches him walk away, wondering. Brad's hardly had anything to drink since the tequila fiasco of Thanksgiving and going out to celebrate the end of Ray's first semester, but it is Friday, and Brad's looked tired every night this week. And homework has been kicking Ray's ass, so maybe they're both due to unwind a little. Or a lot, he thinks, as he drops a handful of ice cubes and then measures spirits into the mason jar. He hands the first cocktail to Brad when he returns, deliberately making it slightly larger, before he pours his own. 

"You didn't answer my question before," Ray says. He screws the cap back onto the vermouth and sticks it in the fridge.

"What question was that?"

"What was wrong? You looked all annoyed and shit when you came in."

Brad presses the cold glass to his temple for a second. "One of the Corporals on the course broke his foot today," he says with a sigh. "He did everything right, I know he did, we checked the tape, but somehow his landing was off just enough…" 

He takes a swallow of the drink. "It's not a bad break, but he'll be out of commission a few weeks, and will have to wait at least two cycles from now to go through again."

That fucking sucks. Ray remembers a guy in his airborne class who busted his wrist. "I'm sorry." 

Brad sighs again and goes into the living room, sitting down on the couch. Ray puts the vodka away in the freezer, then follows him, sitting close. "Gaby sent me baby pictures today, you want to see?" he asks, grabbing his phone from the table.

"Sure. What's the kid's name again?"

"Andres." Ray opens his email and finds Gabriella's message. "Here we go. Look, he's all tiny and cute."

Andres is a little squished-looking pink face wrapped up in a blanket with elephants on it. He's asleep in all of the pictures, with his mouth open. "Okay, that is pretty cute, and normally babies all look the same to me," Brad admits. 

Ray digs his thumb into Brad's thigh. "Shut up, dude, you love Jamie a ton."

"Jamie's face has evolved into a more person-looking face," Brad says solemnly, and finishes off the entirety of his martini as Ray gapes at him. 

"A more _person-looking_ face?"

"Shut up, Ray, you know what I mean."

Ray takes the glass from Brad's hand and puts it on the table along with his own, then gets up on his knees to lean over Brad and kiss him. Brad's hands settle on his hips, thumbs trailing over the waistband of Ray's sweatpants. He kisses Ray back, but doesn't move to do anything else, and they kiss for a while longer, slowing down until it's just a sharing of breath. 

"I'm bad company tonight," Brad whispers, but his expression definitely looks less pinched than it had fifteen minutes ago.

"It's okay." Ray presses a kiss to the corner of Brad's mouth and slides off his lap. "You don't have to entertain me. I should do some reading anyway; we've got case studies due Monday."

"Do you mind if I turn on the TV?"

Ray shakes his head. He gets up to retrieve his book and legal pad, and the bag of grapes from the refrigerator. He returns to settle against Brad when Brad holds out his arm for Ray to slide under. He's turned on college basketball, but the volume is low and neither team playing is one Ray knows or cares much about, so it's easy to slip into his reading and note-taking with Brad's arm loose around his shoulders. 

Brad turns the television off before the game is over. Ray looks up at the sudden silence, then at Brad, and asks, "Don't want to know how it ends?"

"Not that invested," Brad replies with a soft chuckle. He crumples the empty fruit bag in one hand and rubs Ray's thigh for a second with the other. "I think I'm just going to go to bed."

"Okay." He moves so Brad can get up from the couch, nearly losing his pen in the process.

Brad looms over him for a second as Ray fishes his pen out from between the cushions, then leans down and kisses him. "Night," he says quietly.

"Night," Ray breathes, and watches Brad walk away.

*

Ray's anticipating spending a long night writing a paper for Marketing Management, but when he gets in the door, late after running back to Sodaco to drop off some paperwork, Brad's already yelling his name from the sunporch. "What?" he yells back. "Let me get my shoes off!"

Brad's on the treadmill, watching something on his laptop as he runs. "Why are they wearing rainbow bear costumes?" 

"What are you - oh, you're actually watching this?" It's the Uma Thurman _Avengers_ , the one they'd talked about on Thanksgiving. 

"You instructed me to."

"No I didn't, you loser, I just said I knew it was fucking terrible," Ray replies, tilting his head and squinting at the screen. "Why are they wearing those shitty yet terrifying costumes?"

"That's what I wanted to know." Brad slows the treadmill to a walk for a few seconds, then turns it off. On the laptop screen, Sean Connery takes off a giant black bear head and attempts to look menacing. "I think Connery did this only for the money."

"That's a sure bet," Ray laughs. 

Brad grabs a towel and wipes off his face. "Do you have a shit-ton of homework tonight, or can you go out for dinner?"

Ray really, really wants to go out to dinner with Brad. "I have to finish a paper," he sighs, undoing his tie and sliding it off. "But if I didn't, I would definitely want to go out."

Brad steps slightly closer, smiling. He reaches out and undoes the next button on Ray's shirt, his hands warm. "How about I go pick something up while you start on that? Otherwise I'm just going to eat a sandwich and lie on the couch all night and mess with the robot."

"Did you get it to bartend yet?"

"No," Brad says, chuckling. "All right, I'm gonna clean up."

"I'm gonna start my paper." Ray sucks in a deep breath, then feels himself slump. "Yes. Homework. Right now."

"You brought this on yourself," Brad replies, but his smile has softened into something sweet and fond, something that makes Ray smile back helplessly, and they stand there like idiots for a few more seconds before Ray reminds himself, _paper_.

He checks his email first while Brad goes to get dinner and ends up reading the Cracked list his cousin sent. It's a bunch of ridiculous conspiracy theories; he gets a good laugh out of it, and he feels better about having to throw together this stupid paper. 

He's got his notes organized and an outline jotted down with all of his main points when Brad gets back. "Did you just go to New Garden again?" Ray calls without turning around when he hears the door.

"Went to Wasabi, actually."

Ray twists around to see Brad setting a large bag on the counter. "Really?"

"Yes, Ray." He starts removing plastic trays. "I thought it might be easier for you to eat while you write."

Ray's probably going to drip soy sauce and wasabi all over everything, actually, but it's the thought that counts. And he thinks he can see a spider crab roll, his favorite. "Excellent idea."

He bangs out another two decent paragraphs before Brad slides the open container carefully into the space by his elbow. "I'll be in the living room so I'm out of your way," Brad says, gesturing with a pair of chopsticks.

Ray looks up at him. "You can eat here if you want," he insists. He moves his pile of folders to the other side of the laptop. "See, there's room."

"If you're sure."

Ray smirks. "You're not that distracting."

Brad pretends to look offended, then leans down to kiss Ray quickly before he settles in to the open space. He's got the California roll with the eel on top, a thing Ray can never quite believe Brad likes. Ray looks back at his screen and writes another few sentences before he takes a piece from his own plate. He can tell Brad's trying not to bother him, reading something on his phone as he eats, but the silence is slightly weird. Then Mr. Fluffy trots in, yowling about something around the toy he's carrying in his mouth, and Brad looks down at him. "What, you monster?"

Mr. Fluffy sits down by Brad's chair and drops the toy. He makes a little chirping noise. Brad pushes the toy with his foot and Mr. Fluffy pounces on it. Ray covers his mouth with his hand so he doesn't laugh too loudly, but Brad catches the movement and narrows his eyes at Ray. "What?"

"I'm just glad you and the cat get along." 

Brad looks down at the cat and shrugs. "He's okay."

Mr. Fluffy bats the toy under the stove, then looks at Brad. 

"I'm not getting it out for you. That's a toy graveyard under there," Brad says. He points one of his chopsticks at the cat.

Ray pauses with a bite nearly to his mouth, trying not to laugh so he doesn't inhale wasabi. He manages to get out, "I did wonder where his favorite mouse had disappeared to."

Brad's shaking his head at Mr. Fluffy. "It is most definitely under the stove."

*

Ray's phone rings with a number he doesn't recognize, but the area code is local, so he's pretty sure it's not Wes trying to get in touch again. "Gimme a sec," he says to Chad, and answers as he heads for the door of the Panera. It's peak lunch hour, and it's loud. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Ray?" an unfamiliar female voice asks. 

"This is Ray."

"Great, um, this is Angela - Barkdale assigned you as my school mentor for this semester? Sorry I haven't bothered to get in touch and all, I think I've figured most of this school stuff out on my own, but anyway - I actually called you because I'm out of options."

"Out of options for what?"

She sighs. "I'm super sorry to ask, but I need a ride to my MRI appointment the first Wednesday in April. My shitty car broke down and it's like a thousand bucks to get fixed, and the bus doesn't go out that -"

"What time?" Ray interrupts, because it's cool, he can give this undergrad a ride. He doesn't have to be at Sodaco on Wednesdays, so she's in luck.

"Eight in the morning."

"I can help you out," Ray says. 

"Really?" She sounds like she can't believe it. "I know it's just supposed to be advisory stuff for school but literally no one else I know in town is free that morning and you would be a lifesaver since the clinic won't let me change my appointment, thank you _so_ much."

"It's okay," Ray says, chuckling. "Really. Just email me the directions and where to pick you up at. Do you need to be there at eight, or is that what time you needed to be picked up?"

"My appointment's at eight-twenty. It usually takes about an hour. If you can't hang out that long, I can probably find someone to drive me back later," she says. He hears her blow out a huge breath next to the phone. "You are a lifesaver, I will totally owe you," she adds.

"It's not a big deal. I actually wondered if I was going to hear from you at all this semester at all, or if you were one of those students who just ignored the whole program."

"Yeah, it's not really my speed, you know? Barkdale does some dumb shit sometimes. Anyway, I'll email you the addresses and stuff." Angela thanks him again, then says goodbye.

Ray heads back inside. "Everything okay?" Chad asks, looking slightly concerned as Ray sits down again.

"Yeah, it wasn't anything like that. Did the kid you got assigned to mentor ever get in touch?"

Chad drops his fork into his empty salad bowl. "Man, that's the stupidest program, unless you get a student who actually wants to use it. Mine emailed a couple times, some questions about a couple of the undergrad business classes, but I haven't heard from him in weeks. Was that yours?"

"Yeah. She needs a ride."

Chad starts to laugh. "You're cheaper than hiring a car, I guess."

Ray balls up a napkin and throws it at him.

*

After work the first Friday in March, Ray goes to Gabriella's instead of straight home, having been invited to see the baby if he wants to. Which he does. Ray has nothing against babies, they're generally pretty cute as a rule and if they start screaming he can usually hand them back to their parents. He brings Gaby a mocha and two chocolate chip cookies, figuring she needs them.

"Hey, you're here!" she says as she opens the front door. She's wearing capris and a t-shirt, but also slippers, and her dark hair is in a messy ponytail. She gestures for him to stop holding the screen open. "Come on in."

Ray hugs her carefully once he's inside. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever. Brought you some presents." He hands over the cup and bag. 

"Oh, thanks. How did you know this was what I needed this afternoon?"

Ray taps his temple and grins. "It's my superpower. Sorry I couldn't get you any of those donuts."

"This is just as good. Well, come on then, Andres is in the other room." 

Ray follows her out of the foyer and into the living room. The television is on with the volume low. "You would not believe how much Netflix I have watched in the last month and a half," Gaby says. "Unfortunately, I tend to doze off, so it's only like, half an episode of _Sons of Anarchy_ at a time." 

"That's a good show for kids," Ray replies, chuckling.

" _Someone_ is too busy trying to eat constantly to care." Gaby picks Andres up out of the bassinet next to the couch. He's in a one-piece thing with little ducks on it and a tiny knit cap on his head. "You want to hold him?"

"Sure." 

"You know how?" The look she gives Ray says there have been people who were totally clueless.

Ray nods. "Yep. There were a bunch of tiny humans in my ex's extended family, and one of them was just this size the Christmas before last. She cried for nearly everyone else except her mom, but she seemed to like me, and I ended up holding her for half the night."

"Aww, that's sweet," Gaby says, smiling. She settles Andres into Ray's arms. "There."

"He's a heavy little dude," Ray observes. He smiles down at the baby, who blinks at him and works his mouth for a second, but doesn't start to cry. 

"Here, you guys sit down on the couch while I eat my cookies." Gaby points him towards the sofa, and Ray sits down carefully as the baby stares up at him. Gaby settles into an armchair and yanks a blanket up over her lap. "So, fill me on everything, what am I missing at school?"

Ray tells her about McMichael's latest outrageous assignment, Juliet's war with the coffee cart over the number of carafes dedicated to serving decaf, and Brandon and Jenny's latest wedding-planning snafu. "They put a down payment on one place, but then it turned out that place had somehow double-booked, so now they have to find another banquet hall or large space, something that will hold two hundred people."

Gaby's mouth drops open. "Two hundred? God. Pablo and I had forty. But mostly because I flat-out refused to invite every single distant relative and all of their children. Which is the custom, you know? Invite everyone, have a big party - but fuck, who can afford that nowadays? It's ridiculous."

"I think Jenny makes a fucking outrageous amount of money," Ray says. "I mean, compared to what our internships pay. Plus both their parents are kicking in."

"If there had been two hundred people at my wedding, I think I would have cried even more, because that is way too many hands to shake and people to hug before you eat dinner. I was about ready to murder my maid of honor; she was going to leave snacks in the car between the church and the reception, and she forgot. I was so hungry." Gaby sighs at the memory and takes a bite of her cookie.

Andres wiggles a little in Ray's arms, then settles. Ray makes some funny faces at him, scrunching up his nose and sticking out his tongue, but Andres just yawns hugely. "So," Gaby says, all false nonchalance, "how's Brad?"

Ray raises his eyebrows at her. "Who have you been talking to?"

"I don't know, maybe Brandon." She attempts to look innocent over the lid of the coffee cup. "He can't keep anything a secret for more than forty-eight hours, you know this."

"I'm glad I have no secrets then," Ray says. 

"Well, tell me, come on. I need some sort of excitement that isn't baby puke and Netflix."

Ray looks down at Andres. "He's too cute to puke."

"Cuteness has nothing to do with it, and stop changing the subject."

Ray has to laugh at that. "Brad's fine. We're fine. It's -"

"Don't say fine again," Gaby interrupts, glaring. 

"- going okay," Ray finishes.

Gaby rolls her eyes. "Well, how does that work for you guys - no, not like that, Ray - but with him being on active duty and stuff. In a military where he can't be out."

"He's definitely not out. And it's just sex, and we've only been doing it for like a month. It's not like he wants to marry me or some shit. We don't even sleep in the same bed." At her skeptical look, Ray takes a deep breath and adds, "I like him, but I'm not looking for something serious right now, okay? My last relationship didn't end so great."

"If you say that's all it is, okay," she says. 

Ray looks down at the baby again, but he can feel Gaby's gaze on him. "It's nice for now just to feel wanted," he admits quietly, after tickling the baby's feet for a few seconds through the material of the onesie. He looks back up at Gaby. "I gotta let Brad make his own decisions about what there is between us. I don't want to fu- mess up anything for him, with his career."

Gaby nods. "That's totally - I get that, Ray." 

Andres starts to squirm in earnest, his face reddening as he lets out a wail, and Gaby unfolds herself from the chair and takes him from Ray's arms. "I think someone needs to get cleaned up," she says, making a goofy face at the baby.

"Ooh, I think that's my cue to go," Ray laughs. "I can show myself out."

"Thanks for coming over. It gets a little monotonous around here when Pablo's at work." 

"I'll come visit again." Ray squeezes Gaby's shoulder, then brushes his thumb over Andres' cheek. "I'll see you guys later," he says, and lets himself out of the house. 

In the car, he realizes his hands are cold for no reason, and sits there for a second rubbing them together. His phone vibrates in his pocket. It's Brad. _getting pizza tonight, want in?_

_I never turn down pizza_ , Ray writes back.

They exchange a couple more texts about toppings, and then Brad sends, _I want to try something new tonight_

_what, like olives?_

_want to blow you_

Ray is very glad he's still sitting in the driveway and not actually operating the car. Finally he types, _can't just spring that on a guy like that damn Brad_

Brad sends the smiling-widely emoji in response. Ray huffs, turns his phone off, and tosses it on the passenger seat so he can drive without any more distraction. 

When he gets home, Brad's sitting on the couch doing something to the robot with a tiny screwdriver, with Mr. Fluffy perched on the back behind his head. Ray gets his shoes off and walks over to pet the cat for a few seconds. When Mr. Fluffy jumps away, annoyed at being bothered, Ray leans down to whisper in Brad's ear, "Someone said something about blowjobs?"

Brad grins up at him, his gaze hot and possessive, and Ray shivers. "Before or after pizza?" he asks Ray.

Ray slides a hand down over Brad's chest and stomach and touches his fingertips to the shape of Brad's dick, clearly visible through his thin sweatpants. Casually, he says, "I think we should work up an appetite first."

Brad skims his teeth along Ray's jawline, breath hot. "Good, because I already scheduled the delivery for an hour from now."

Ray laughs. "Presumptuous much? Guess you better get moving."

"Can you spell that?"

"T-H-A-T, Brad, hurry the fuck up."

Brad turns part way around to kiss Ray, then yanks on his shirt and tells him to get around to the other side of the couch where his dick will be accessible. Ray does as instructed, saying, "I love that you say shit like that, Brad, that I gotta make my dick _accessible_ , that's educated multi-syllabic dirty talk -"

"Shut up, Ray," Brad replies, unzipping Ray's khakis. "Did I buy you these pants?"

"Yes."

"Excellent."

Brad goes about it slowly, but to Ray's surprise, he's not actually hesitant about putting his mouth on Ray's cock. "What the fuck, did you take a class or something?" he asks, then adds, "No, don't answer," because he doesn't want Brad to stop. 

"I kinda wish you had enough hair to hold onto," he sighs a few seconds later, running his hands over Brad's head. Brad must find that humorous, because he hums around Ray's cock and looks up in a way that Ray knows means he'd be smirking if his mouth wasn't busy.

*

Ray's been out of the Corps long enough now that he's edged back into sloppiness, especially after living with Wes, who wasn't messy so much as not meticulous, and had a habit of collecting weird trinkets. That meant most of what was in the Ozarks apartment was - is - Wes'. Which was fine when Ray was throwing stuff into his car to leave, but now he feels like he's still buying things to make up for stuff he's sure he once owned but left behind.

Brad's been totally chill about Ray's new possessions creeping out of his room and into other parts of the house; their DVDs get all mixed together and Brad doesn't seem to care at all. One weekend Ray gets home from his Saturday study group to find Brad putting together a larger bookcase for the living room, and Brad says it's so Ray can fit his books on there, too.

"You know you didn't have to, right?" Ray asks, setting his messenger bag on the couch and going over to Brad so he can lean down and kiss him thoroughly in thanks. 

"I felt like it. Help me stand it up." 

They get the bookshelf into place, and Brad steps back with an accomplished look on his face. "Fits well there. Now you can get your shit off the floor."

Ray laughs, because he knows Brad doesn't really mean it, then laughs some more when the cat jumps into the bookshelf to investigate. 

"You need anything from Target?" Ray asks later, leaning into the doorway of Brad's bedroom with his hands on the doorjamb. Brad looks up from where he's sitting on the bed, doing something with a sharp-looking knife to one of his running shoes. "I gotta get Mr. Fluffy some food."

"I'll come with, if you'll allow me," Brad says. He sets the shoe aside and closes the knife. 

"Yeah, that's cool. Are you ready now?"

"I only need to put shoes on." He looks down at Ray's feet. "And so do you, apparently."

Ray's shoes are by the door like they always are. Mr. Fluffy meows at him from his perch on the arm of the sofa as Ray sits down next to him to do up the laces. "You want some wet food, huh, buddy?" Ray asks the cat, scratching his fingers down Mr. Fluffy's back once he's done with his shoes.

"At least that he doesn't spill on the floor," Brad says. "Ready, Ray."

"I'll get you a present," Ray promises the cat. Brad snorts. "What? It makes me happy to buy him stuff."

Brad quirks a smile at that and leans in to kiss the corner of Ray's mouth. "I understand the impulse, believe me."

Ray thinks about that as they get into the Yaris. "Wait, is that why you -"

"Yes," Brad says, before Ray can even finish the question. 

Ray touches the watch on his wrist briefly, then looks at Brad, who's looking back at him with an amused expression. Ray fumbles to start the car. "Oh."

Once they're at the store, Ray expects Brad to wander off towards the electronics section, but instead he sticks next to Ray as Ray grabs a cart and heads for the pet food. "What are you actually getting here anyway?" Ray asks him.

"Towels."

Ray halts the cart in the aisle full of cat stuff. "Towels? Like, bath towels?"

"Yes." Brad unhooks a feathery toy from the display and examines it. "Do you think Mr. Fluffy would enjoy this?"

"Mr. Fluffy would rip all the fucking feathers off it and leave them in the bed in a grotesque hunting display," Ray says, right as an older woman turns into the aisle. She stares at them with her mouth an 'o' for a few seconds, then backs out hurriedly. 

He looks at Brad. Brad is definitely trying not to laugh; his shoulders are shaking. Ray grabs the bag of cat food, Brad tosses the toy into the cart, and they move on to housewares. "I hope we don't get banned from this Target," Ray whispers, as Brad grabs the front of the cart to steer it around a bathmat someone left hanging off the edge of a clearance endcap. 

"We're not going to be arrested for saying 'fucking' in the pet aisle," Brad replies dryly. 

Ray pauses to look at what's left of the Sharper Image shit still leftover from Christmas, but there's hardly anything now. Plus he doesn't really need an automatic coin counter; he's already running out of space on his nightstand. "You don't know that," he says as they continue on. "I don't think I would do well in jail, Brad."

Brad rolls his eyes and turns to the shelves full of bath towels. Ray's expecting him to reach for the white, because _Brad_ , but Brad stands there scanning the shelves for a few seconds before picking up a stack of the light blue, most expensive ones.

"Really?" Ray asks incredulously, and Brad gives him a look.

"Soon you will also reach an age where you refuse to use cheap thin non-absorbent pieces of shit for towels, Ray."

"I'll steal yours, then," Ray informs him with a shrug, reaching to touch the fluffy towels.

Brad's eyes narrow and he slaps at Ray's hand. "No, you will not." He puts another three in the cart.

"You know you can't bleach those," Ray says without thinking, then, "oh God, I'm channelling my mom."

"Fuck off, they're the same color as my sheets. Kitchen shit now, let's move."

Ray can only watch in horrified wonder as Brad obtains new dish towels as well, green this time. 'Why are you looking at me as though I've grown a second head?"

"That would still not explain this deviation from the norm," Ray says, pointing at the cart full of towels.

Brad crosses his arms over his chest and straightens his posture even further, radiating annoyance. "I felt like making a change," he replies, the words coming out mostly on a sigh, and Ray feels suddenly awful for making him squirm like this. 

Ray edges around the cart and presses a brief hand to Brad's hip, a fast slide, tracking his fingertips up over the waist of Brad's cargo shorts. He leans in to murmur in Brad's ear, "It's nice, okay? I -," here he stops, unsure of what he'd been about to say. "I didn't really mean to make fun of you, I'm sorry."

Brad elbows him in the stomach, but it's gentle. "You want Starbucks?"

"Are you buying? Fuck yeah."

*

He and Brad settle into an easy rhythm as the semester goes by. Brad's usually still up and out of the house before him, but most weeknights they tend to get home within a few minutes of each other. Whoever gets home first starts something for dinner, and they eat on the couch with Ray leaning against Brad and trying to do some of his reading, and Mr. Fluffy on the loveseat staring at them. It's quiet and comfortable in a way that Ray finally realizes life with Wes never was. Maybe it helps that he and Brad already know almost all of each other's weird secrets, all those things confessed during endless hours driving in a Humvee or sitting in a boat.

Thursday nights Ray usually stays later at Sodaco catching up on whatever he's got left for the week. He's in his cubicle when he hears someone say, "Hey, Ray," and he looks up from his computer screen. It's Laurel from sales, smiling hesitantly. "A couple of us are going out for drinks, do you want to come?"

"Sure, where are we going?"

"Um, something Brewpub; I guess it's on Broadway. Jay picked."

Ray nods. "Yeah, I know where that is. I can give you a ride, if you want to leave your car here. Since it sounds like you're not sure where you're going."

"You don't mind?" she asks, her eyebrows lifting. 

"Nah, it's cool." Ray grabs his phone to let Brad know he'll be home late, then shuts down his computer. 

Jay, Lisa, and Nikki are already there when Ray and Laurel walk in, and Jay waves them over saying, "Tables were all full, but we negotiated enough spots at the bar," and gesturing at the two empty stools. 

Ray orders a weird-sounding beer from what seems to be an endless list, and he and Jay talk about the Royals' chances this season until their drinks arrive. "What did you order?" he asks Laurel, who's drinking something with a large lemon twist out of a champagne flute. 

"Oh, it's a French 75 - gin and lemon with champagne." She nudges the glass towards him. "You can try it, if you want."

Ray takes a careful sip. "That's nice, but if I had more than one, I'd probably get a stupid champagne headache."

"I feel sorry for you," Laurel laughs. 

"That headache is no joke. Here, I got an apricot beer, if you want to try," he offers, but she shakes her head, saying beer isn't really her thing. Ray returns his glass to the cardboard coaster. "Okay, now I feel sorry for _you_."

"I got wasted on shitty beer once in college and ever since…" Laurel shakes her head again. "That weird thing where if it's made you sick once, you never want it again."

"I get that. Pizza Hut is forever ruined for me," Ray sighs. He eats a handful of pretzels from the basket on offer.

Laurel rolls her eyes and pushes her hair back. "Don't get shitty chain pizza anyway, Ray. Have you tried - um, what's it called - oh, Mellow Mushroom, now that they're finally open?"

"No, I haven't. Mellow Mushroom, huh?"

"We could try it sometime, if you'd like to go with me," she says in a voice that's way too casual, before she takes another sip of her drink. 

Ray rubs a hand over his mouth. _Fuck._ He struggles with how to reply for a second, while Laurel's face turns bright red, and he finally goes with, "If you're asking me out on a date, I'm flattered, really, but I'm - sort of in a relationship, kinda. Aaaand I just made it really fucking awkward, right? Sorry."

She shakes her head hurriedly. "No, I made it awkward by asking, I'm the one who should be sorry."

"I'll forget you did, how about that?"

"Deal." Laurel finishes her drink and waves the bartender over for another. "Um, what were we discussing? Pizza! How about Cappelli's, it's over on Main and Huntland, right on the corner there? I don't know what you like on pizza, but they do a really good oven-roasted eggplant, with fresh ricotta."

"Brad and I usually get Cappelli's for delivery, yeah," Ray says, nodding. "But generally not vegetables."

"Is that your housemate?"

Ray feels the flush creeping up his neck and takes a hurried sip of his beer. "He's, uh, my sort-of boyfriend."

"Oh. _Oh._ Oh, God, now it's all awkward again."

Laurel looks mortified now and Ray can't help but laugh. "Don't worry about it," he assures her. "It's fine." 

His phone vibrates in the inside pocket of his jacket and he slides it out. _fyi I gave the cat his dinner_

This is the perfect way to pretend he has to leave without looking like he's trying to escape more awkward conversation with Laurel. _thanks I owe you_

Brad's confusion is evident even via text. _...for feeding MF?_

_be home soon,_ Ray sends. To Laurel he says, "Sorry, I gotta run," and he's sure he doesn't mistake the relief that crosses her face. Ray taps Jay lightly on the shoulder. "Can you give Laurel a ride back to the office? I was going to, but I'm wiped, so I think I'm just gonna head home."

"Sure, no problem. You okay to drive?"

Ray nods. "Only had one, so I'm good. See you tomorrow."

There's only a single light on in the living room when he gets to the house, and Ray wonders where the cat is. "Ray, that you?" he hears Brad call. 

"Who else would it be?"

"Come in here."

"Hang on a sec." He goes into his room and changes into pajamas, then walks the three steps across the hallway to Brad's room to lean in the doorway. "Hey."

"Did you enjoy your socializing?" Brad asks. He marks his page in the book he's reading - it looks to Ray like the Lindbergh biography. Mr. Fluffy is flopped across his knees; Ray can see his paws kneading at the blanket. 

Ray shrugs and walks over to pet the cat. "You can get in," Brad says, flipping the covers back, so Ray climbs into the bed. Mr. Fluffy looks annoyed at being even slightly disturbed, but after a second, he moves so he's stretched over Ray's leg as well as Brad's. 

"This is ridiculous," Ray says, pointing at the cat. 

Brad bumps his shoulder gently against Ray's. "He's very interested in my book, clearly he likes American history. He's a cat of good taste." 

"Haven't you read this one already?"

"Yes," Brad replies, in the tone that means he's ignoring the fact that Ray is asking in the first place. 

Ray leans his head on Brad's shoulder. "So... Tonight at the bar, Laurel asked me out, and I used you texting as an excuse to escape."

There's a definite pause before Brad asks, "Did you tell her she could do better?"

Ray wiggles his arm around Brad's and flicks at his fingers, not actually annoyed. "Honestly, I said I was sort of in a relationship already."

"Well…" He feels Brad's lips press against his temple for a second, the warm air of his exhale. "Was there a lie in that particular statement?" 

Brad's voice is light, but Ray can feel that his body has tensed. "No lie on my part," he replies, and Brad relaxes again. Ray ventures to ask, "How about you?"

"Were I to turn down a date by saying I was already in a relationship, that would also not be a lie," Brad says softly. He puts the book on the nightstand. The movement jostles Mr. Fluffy, who vocalizes his displeasure and attempts to resettle. 

"Sure you couldn't do better?" Ray can't help but ask.

Brad pins him with a look. His face is very close. "Don't want to," he says, and kisses Ray. "You taste like weird beer."

"Because I had a weird beer, Mr. I-Drink-Cosmopolitans."

"Shut up, Ray," Brad murmurs, and kisses him again, pushing Ray back against the pillows. 

Ray works a hand up between them and cups Brad's face, lightly, letting Brad continue directing the kiss, until Brad drags his mouth down over Ray's jaw and to his neck, nuzzling against the hollow of his throat for a moment before sucking at the spot where Ray's neck and shoulder join. "Hey, no hickeys," Ray mumbles, skimming his thumb over Brad's cheekbone. "I got a job, you know."

"Mm-hmm," Brad huffs, and lets up slightly, but also doesn't really stop.

"I need to make money," Ray adds. "You can't be my sugar daddy."

That does make Brad stop, and he pulls back to smirk openly at Ray. "Are you sure that's not that you want?"

"You don't make enough money, Gunnery Sergeant." 

He's pretty sure his voice is firm and steady, but Brad only smirks some more and pinches Ray's hip as he says, "I think I've been able to afford you just fine so far, Ray." He turns his head and presses a kiss to Ray's wrist next to the watchband.

"Man, that's dirty pool. Here I thought I was a low-maintenance boyfriend."

Mr. Fluffy chooses that moment to yowl loudly at them as if he's disputing Ray's statement. "Shut up, cat, you're supposed to be low-maintenance, too," Ray says, and Brad laughs so hard he rolls off of Ray onto his back, his whole body shaking and one forearm coming up to cover his eyes. 

Ray glares at him. "That was not that funny."

"Sure it was."

"I'm going back to my room."

"No, you're not."

Ray jabs his thumb into Brad's side and twists, and Brad catches his wrist in a loose grip. "I mean you can stay," he says, the words as soft as his expression. "If you want."

Ray does want. He wants whatever Brad will offer, and the thought makes him shiver. "I have to brush my teeth first."

Brad nods and lets go of him. Ray reaches down to pet the cat for a second before he gets up, and Mr. Fluffy rolls onto his back, showing Ray his belly. "Kitty, you are so demanding," he sighs, and gives in to the petting while Brad chuckles. 

When he gets back from the bathroom, Mr. Fluffy is lying on Brad's arm. "Two dudes and a cat, what is this gay sitcom our lives have become?" Ray asks, and Brad shrugs his free shoulder. 

Ray slides under the blanket again, enjoying the soft and silky feel of Brad's nice sheets. "Did you buy these sheets because they're ten million times better than the shit in the barracks?"

Brad gives him a look that says _of course_ before he switches off the lamp. "Are you sure you don't want a bigger bed for your room?" he asks, as he moves his long limbs back down under the blankets, getting his head on his pillow before he adjusts the sheet over both of them.

Ray wiggles closer and presses a kiss just above Brad's collarbone. "Yours is big enough."

*

Sleeping most nights now in the same bed as Brad means Ray tends to wake up when Brad wakes up, which means they both stand bleary-eyed in the kitchen while the coffee brews, and Ray mumbles all the stuff he has to do for the day while Brad fixes both their cups.

"It's a good thing I got up when you did," he says, yawning, "since I gotta take Angela to some doctor's appointment this morning since her car's broke."

Brad rinses the spoon in the sink. "Angela… I don't remember an Angela? In one of your classes?"

"School mentorship program thing with the undergrads." Ray takes the cup Brad holds out. "Ray's working on his karma points."

"Rudy would be so proud," Brad deadpans. "What time are you home tonight?"

"Class goes until five, and then I was going to stop at the grocery store since we're nearly out of peanut butter again, so around six, probably. Why?"

Brad shakes his head. "No real reason, but if you wanted to wait on groceries, we could just go together this weekend."

"That's pretty domestic," Ray laughs. He slurps at the coffee; it's hot. "But okay."

"I'm going to get dressed. I'll see you later." Brad ducks in and kisses the corner of Ray's mouth, then turns on his heel. 

Ray gets Mr. Fluffy's breakfast sorted out, then goes to get himself ready. Brad leaves while he's in the shower, but when Ray gets out, he finds a peanut butter & jelly sandwich wrapped in paper towel on the kitchen counter, next to the empty peanut butter jar. "I guess now we're really out," he says to the cat. 

He finishes getting the rest of his stuff together, and heads out to pick up Angela. The directions lead him to a pair of apartment buildings he knows a lot of the undergrads live in. In front of the northernmost building, there's a girl in jeans and a red t-shirt, wearing a brightly patterned backpack. There's a large art portfolio at her side. Ray pulls the car up to the curb. "Hey, are you Angela from Barkdale?" he calls out the window.

"You Ray?"

"Yeah. Hi."

"Hey. Can I put my stuff in the back?"

"Sure."

She puts the portfolio and the backpack in the car, then slides into the passenger seat. "Thank you so much for the ride, I really hope it wasn't too weird that I just called you out of nowhere. I probably could have walked there, but I gotta go to campus after, and I needed to bring all my art stuff."

"Are you an art major?"

"Graphic design major, interior design minor. Which is all Barkdale offers for interior design, but it's cool. Um, you want to be in the other lane, so we can turn left up here."

Ray signals the lane change and moves over. "It's not at the hospital?"

"No, it's one of those stand-alone clinics."

Ray glances over to see her fiddling with the seatbelt and wonders. "Sorry for asking, but - are you nervous about it?"

"What?" She looks down at her hands. "Oh, no, I'm just fidgety. I've had like a hundred stupid MRIs at this point, they're no big deal."

"Just a check up kinda thing?"

"Yeah, I had surgery a couple years ago - yep, left here, and then we're going up like ten blocks or so, you see why I didn't want to haul all my crap - so I have to get it done once a year until my neurosurgeon says I can get on the five-year plan."

"Wait, your neurosurgeon - you had like, brain surgery?" Ray asks without thinking. "That's hardcore, dude. Uh, sorry. It's none of my business, sorry."

Angela's laughing. "I had the least hardcore version you can have. And don't be sorry, it's cool. I don't mind telling people. I got a pretty sweet-ass scar out of it, but my hair covers most of it up. You can turn right after this light, it's the red building there." 

Ray swings the car into the turnaround in the front of the building, stopping right in front of the doors. "You got a ride back?" he asks as Angela gets her backpack and portfolio. 

"Yeah, my friend Rebecca said she'd come get me when I'm done. Thanks for getting me here, Ray. I owe you one - I'll buy you Denny's or something."

"Hey, no problem." 

"See you around school." Angela waves and heads into the building. 

Speaking of school, Ray has some homework he should probably finish, so he heads to the library. He stops at the little coffee cart outside first, and sits at one of the tiny tables with a cup, getting out his laptop. There's the weekly email from Rudy, more Macy's sale emails - he's never going to be free of those - and one from his mom. She was the only person he told that he was leaving Wes, and leaving Missouri, and while they don't talk on the phone all that much, he tries to write her an email at least once a week.

_Hi honey -_

_I hope school is treating you right, I enjoyed hearing about the surprise anniversary party for Chad and Reba, thanks for sending those pictures of you. Sometimes I need the reminder that you're not a teenager anymore, you know? :-) Brad looks like he's doing well, and that picture of you guys by the party banner is really nice, is it OK if I get it printed? I need something more recent than your high school graduation picture in the house._

Ray suddenly remembers Brad's rant about his picture being distributed without his permission from years ago, and laughs softly to himself. He's totally going to tell his mom it's okay to print out; he's pretty sure Brad won't be visiting Nevada anytime soon.

_Anyway, the latest here: Plans for Abby's wedding have gotten slightly out of control, I'm slightly worried that Stephanie might kill her before we even get to the wedding, haha. The latest battle is over the caterer for the reception. Be glad she didn't ask you to stand up for her, because the groomsmen have been to at least three fittings for their suits already. Bobby might also be ready to strangle someone, I hope it's not the tailor, because it's sooooo not that poor man's fault. Picture me shaking my head here._

_Your RSVP is due next week, so hurry it up, son. And make use of that plus one, if you get the HINT your old mom is dropping here. All my love!!_

Yeah, Ray's been avoiding that. He digs his phone from his bag and texts his mom. _I'm assuming this HINT is that you want me to bring someone to the wedding_.

_got it in one_ , she sends back a few minutes later. _even just a friend! what about Brad?_

Sure, because Brad will really be into that. Ray rolls his eyes at his phone. _I'll ask, okay, but don't be disappointed if he says no._

_due next week! Everyone will be so happy to see you :-)_

"So, um, about my cousin's wedding," he says to Brad later that night over pad thai.

Brad looks up from his struggle to get peanuts in the bite he wants to take, or so it looks to Ray. "What about it?"

"Want to go with me?"

Brad stares at him for so long Ray feels himself start to get nervous, his hand slipping on his fork. "It's totally okay if you don't," he hurries to add. "It's just that I get a plus one, and my mom was like, 'hey, you should bring a friend, you know' in her Mom-way -"

"Yes," Brad says, interrupting his blabbering. 

"What?"

"Yes, I will go with you, Ray. Do I need to use smaller words? Those were all single syllables, but for you, I would try."

"Shut the fuck up, you linguist," Ray says, then, "Really?"

Brad picks up the unused lime wedge from the edge of his dish and drops it onto Ray's. "Should I get the dictionary? How about foreign languages? I know at least six ways to say yes in things other than English."

Ray files that information away for later, such as when they're having sex. "The wedding's in Missouri," he points out. He squeezes the lime over his noodles.

"I already understood it to be in Missouri."

"So you're sure?" Ray asks again, wanting to be certain before he mails in the RSVP and tells his mom and basically his entire family that Brad's coming to the wedding. He's not clear on how Brad can be so chill about this. "If I tell my mom you're coming and then you don't, I can't be held responsible if she drives here and beats you up."

Brad smiles and winds his fork into his noodles again. "I understand."

*

Someone stops next to him at the coffee cart, and Ray looks over to see that it's Angela. "Hey."

"Come here often?" she asks, grinning.

"Every day almost," says the freshman who's running the cash register. 

Ray pretends like he's wounded. "Carlos, don't be like that."

Carlos gives Ray a deadpan look as he hands Ray his change and an empty cup. Ray hikes his bag higher on his shoulder and slides over to the carafes. "How was your scan thing?" he asks Angela as he fills his cup with something marked 'House Blend'. "Carlos, dude, there's no French Roast again."

Carlos heaves a sigh. Angela's laughing. "It was fine, thanks for asking," she tells Ray. The espresso machine hisses loudly. "I still owe you Denny's for the ride, yeah? Want to go tonight, or do you have plans? I'm craving their terrible French toast."

"My only plans were hanging out with my roommate." Ray stirs some milk into his coffee, then snaps the lid on carefully, since he's spilled before. Would be nice if the school got an actual Starbucks kiosk, instead of this place with cheap cups and limited options.

"Bring your roommate along," Angela says with a decisive nod. "Denny's for everybody."

Ray's nearly certain Brad would rather stay home, but he'll give it a shot. "Okay, what time?"

She dumps several packets of Equal into her latte. "Seven? It's on the corner by my building."

"Sure, want us to pick you up?"

"No, I'll just walk. See you then." She smiles at Ray and waves to Carlos, then heads in the direction of the arts building. 

Carlos leans over the counter and says, "Since you complained, I called down to my boss that we need more French Roast and they're bringing another carafe. If you want to wait I can give you a new cup."

Ray tells him not to worry about it, then sits down at one of the small tables to dig out his phone and text Brad. _we're going out w/ Angela tonite, just Denny's, 7pm - ok?_

He's finished his coffee and is halfway through the Ops assignment when Brad replies. _sounds good_

Ray's a little astounded by how agreeable Brad seems to things, but counters the thought remembering how Brad had always tended to work best by making the best out of whatever direction he'd been pointed in. Ray isn't entirely sure how he feels about being the one to point Brad in any direction at all. Weird, sort of. It's definitely better than Wes, who tended to argue over things for a while even if he ultimately was cool with Ray's suggestion. 

_thanks_ , he writes back. Brad sends a smiley face a few seconds later. Ray puts his homework aside and takes out his laptop, because he needs to email Rudy about this right now. 

_HELP ME RUDY REYES YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE,_

_I think I might be in love with Brad. He is 1000000% chill about how we're fucking and we do things together and I haven't slept in my room in weeks_

Ray takes a deep breath and stops, counts how many zeroes he'd put in. Apparently Brad is one million percent chill. Ray winces. Then he deletes the whole thing all the way back to the salutation.

_1) Okay, backstory first: Brad and I have been fucking since January. 2) What do I do about the fact that I might be in love with him?_

Then he thinks that maybe he shouldn't tell Rudy it's Brad, but fuck it, who is Rudy going to tell? He hits send before he can delete everything again.

Rudy, because he's magic and has been magic as long as Ray's known him, responds within a minute. _Ray, my friend - take a deep breath, slowly, bringing in good clean energy, and letting go of all your stress. Love is beautiful and you deserve happiness. Repeat that to yourself, right now._

Rudy has never steered him wrong, minus the accidental espresso stove to the face. _Love is beautiful and I deserve happiness,_ Ray thinks to himself, feeling really fucking lame but doing it nonetheless.

_Okay, now start from the beginning and tell me the whole story,_ says the rest of Rudy's email.

Ray takes another deep breath, before he starts from Brad's drunken kiss at Thanksgiving, to the batting cages, to how they go grocery shopping together now on Saturday afternoons. It's nearly time for him to go to Marketing when he sends the email, and he shuts his laptop with a huff before he shoves it back into his bag. 

Class, for better or worse, demands enough of his attention that he can't spare the time to worry about what Rudy's reply might be until nearly three hours later, and when McMichael finally lets them leave, he has enough time to run through the Subway line for a mediocre ham sandwich that he eats on his way to Sodaco. 

He's barely got his ass in his desk chair when Jay rounds the corner into Ray's cubicle. "So you missed all the fun meetings this morning!" he says. "Guess what, we're opening a new distribution center in Michigan."

Ray blinks. "What?"

Pulling the stuff Jay needs takes his whole shift and then some, so it's nearly six before Ray can even look at his phone. There are two texts from Brad and a reply from Rudy. Brad's texts read _be home in 10_ and _you're not home?_.

_got stuck late at work, leaving now_ , Ray replies. He grabs his bag and heads down to his car. He'll read Rudy's email later. It appears to start with a smiley face, so it can't be anything horrible.

Brad's emptying the dishwasher when Ray gets in the door, and he sets a stack of plates on the counter and leans over to kiss Ray absently. "You don't usually have to work late on Tuesdays," he says. He squeezes Ray's waist with one hand. "Something come up?"

Ray groans. "I wasn't planning on staying so late, but I got ambushed the second I walked in the place. They're opening a new distribution center, so there are a million things that have to happen to actually make it happen." He rubs a hand over his face. "Ugh. I'm going to go change before we go, I don't think I can wear this tie for another minute without wanting to light it on fire."

"Pancakes will make you feel better, Ray," Brad calls after him as Ray goes down the hall. Pancakes _will_ make him feel better. Maybe blueberry. 

Mr. Fluffy is stretched out on Ray's bed, his tail twitching. Once Ray's changed, he flops down next to the cat and hides his face in Mr. Fluffy's soft fur. "Why was today so… today," he mutters, but Mr. Fluffy only makes a chirping noise and tolerates Ray touching him for another five seconds before he saunters off. 

There's a whirring sound and Brad's little robot rolls into the doorway. A folded piece of paper sits on the tray. It reads _PANCAKES, RAY_ , and it's so stupid yet somehow charming that Ray bursts out laughing. The robot wheels around and rolls out of the room. Ray follows it. 

"You're a huge nerd," he tells Brad, who's standing in the kitchen with his phone. The robot goes in a circle around Ray's feet and stops next to Brad. "I'm going to get you those fighting robot spider things for your birthday."

Brad looks up and grins. "Haven't we traumatized the cat enough?"

"He'll live." 

Brad picks up the robot and returns it to the charging station on the counter. "Are you driving or am I driving?"

"I don't want to drive."

"All right."

Ray knows he really has no reason to still feel sort of cranky, and simply realizing he's cranky is enough for him to relax a little as Brad drives to the restaurant with the radio on the terrible 80's station he likes, the volume down low enough that Ray can hear when Brad's singing along under his breath. "I can't believe you know all the words to 'When Doves Cry'," Ray says, unable to stop from making fun.

"Excuse you, why wouldn't I know all the words to 'When Doves Cry'?" Brad turns the truck into the parking lot and pulls forward into a spot. It's exactly seven o'clock. Angela is standing inside the small foyer area with an umbrella in her hand.

"Oh shit, is it supposed to rain?" Ray asks her.

"Yup." To Brad, she says, "Hello, new person. I'm Angela."

"Brad." 

A lady who looks like she's been working this Denny's since before Angela was born, if not before Ray was born, picks up a stack of menus and says they can sit anywhere they like. After a cup of coffee he feels a thousand percent less grumpy, there are chocolate chip pancakes on the specials menu, and Brad doesn't seem to mind at all that Ray's leaning on him slightly in the booth. 

"Are you from Columbus?" Brad's asking Angela as the waitress refills their mugs. 

"No, from Jonesboro - it's just outside Atlanta. Barkdale gave me a good financial aid package, a couple scholarships, so I didn't have to take out as many loans as I would have if I'd gone to UGA. I was all ready to go there, then my ma was like, 'No Angie, you need less debt, not more,' so. Barkdale it was." Angela shrugs. "I like it well enough."

"You didn't want to join the military to pay for college?" Ray asks, chuckling.

"Nah, I never would have made it through boot camp. My best friend from high school joined up, though, she's in the Navy."

Brad lifts a brow. "Yeah, what's she do for the Navy?"

Ray nudges Brad's shoulder. "Move quick, I gotta hit the head."

When he comes back, their food has arrived, and Brad and Angela have moved into talking about tattoo design. Ray tucks into his pancakes and listens.

*

"How the fuck did it get to be finals so fast?" Ray asks, leaning his head back against the ugly couch of the study room. "Wasn't it just Christmas? I swear it was just Christmas."

"Nope," Chad replies. He's laughing at Ray, and Ray knows it. "It's finals, dude, and we're all going to suffer."

Brandon points at each of them in turn. "Hey. No casualties, remember?"

"No, please, just evac me," Ray groans. He scrubs his hands over his face.

"Did you burn me that live Return to Forever you said you found last week?" Brandon asks, as Ray feels a balled-up piece of paper bounce off his arm.

"Yes! I have it." Ray sits up and grabs his bag. He digs out the CD and flips it to Brandon. "Thanks for reminding me. I hope Jenny likes it, Corea on keyboards is fantastic."

"I used to play the keyboards for a jazz group, in undergrad," Juliet says, her voice thoughtful. She puts her feet up on one of the chairs. "I haven't thought about that in forever."

"Wait, wait, wait." Ray slides closer to her on the worn couch. This is exactly the sort of opportunity he's been waiting for and didn't even realize. "What should we call our band?"

Her brown eyes get almost comically wide and she holds up a hand, as if that will stop Ray. "Oh, no, I couldn't -"

"Great. Oh No I Couldn't meets this Saturday night in Brad's garage, bring your keyboard. It'll be a good way to shake off the lingering stress of finals. And don't worry, I suck too, so if we make a lot of horrible noise and there's nothing worth salvaging, I won't blame you. Okay?"

Juliet shakes her head slightly. "I - oh, hell." She shrugs, and Ray knows he's won her over. "Why not?"

Ray grins at her. "That's the fucking spirit, J. I'll tell Brad he has to take the bike out for a spin, we can jam for a while, see what comes of it."

"You should know I'm not the best at improvising, despite the jazz background." Juliet makes an _I'm not sure about this_ sort of face. 

He bumps her arm lightly with his elbow. "Can you sing?"

"Sort of?"

"Ah, that's okay." Ray gets the feeling she's selling herself short. He waves a hand, already itching for his guitar. "Man, I haven't done more than just randomly fuck around on my guitar for forever. As long as you can pick up at least some of what I rattle out, it won't be complete chaos. I hope. I've got some lyrics we can mess around with, or we can find something we both know to cover. But we'll make Brad leave just in case."

Juliet shakes her head, laughing. "All right. I'll be there."

*

Finals are - well, Ray's found final exams to be the same at most of the colleges he's attended, but he never seems to remember that he does fine if he studies, and none of them have ever been anything worth pulling his hair out over. Only a long, not-fun way to spend an afternoon.

He waits for Brandon at the coffee cart after he finishes with Financial Management, nursing a vaguely disappointing latte. Brandon's not too much longer, emerging fifteen minutes later running his hands through his hair and unzipping his hoodie. "I'll be glad to get out of this icebox for a couple months," he says as he reaches Ray. 

"Sodaco's air conditioning is just as bad," Ray says with a sigh. "Like, it's May in the South, why am I wearing my suit jacket? And yet."

"Yeah, Reynolds isn't any better." Brandon rolls his shoulders. "Ready to blow this joint?"

"Yeah, let's go." Ray drops his cup in the closet trash bin. "Wait, where are we going?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to get a beer and work on my sketches for a while, try to de-stress. You're more than welcome to come with me, as long as you don't care that I don't talk much."

"That's fine with me; I need to email my mom and a couple other people."

"Cool."

He follows Brandon to a bar not too far from campus. It's not busy at all, and they can grab a table big enough for Brandon to open his sketchpad and Ray his laptop. He writes his mom back first, filling her in on how finals have been, what he's working on at Sodaco, and the adventures of Mr. Fluffy. 

She must be online, because she writes him back only a few minutes after he's sent his email. _You didn't mention Brad. How's he doing?_

Ray narrows his eyes at the screen. It's not like he's not out to his family - after about six months of sneaking around to be with Wes, his mom had figured out something was going on, and asked him flat-out if Wes was his boyfriend. And Ray's never been good at lying to his mom, ever. 

He's still not exactly sure what Brad is for sure, though, besides an excellent excuse to turn down dates with other people, and good in bed. And he definitely isn't going to tell his mom the sex details. "Something wrong?" Brandon asks, and Ray looks up to see Brandon looking at him with a questioning expression. "Sorry, your face was just - doing stuff."

"No, nothing's wrong. My mom was on my case about bringing a date to my cousin's wedding, and she was like, 'you should bring Brad, just as a friend!', and then he said he'd actually go, so uh, now I'm debating whether or not I should tell actually tell her that Brad and I have been hooking up."

Brandon's eyebrows fly upward. "It happened again?"

"It, uh, has been happening. Often," Ray mutters. 

Brandon groans. "Goddamn it, now I owe Juliet fifty bucks." 

Ray feels his eyes widen. He has terrible friends. "What? You had bets on whether or not Brad and I were still fucking?"

"Yeah, we did. Sorry, man," Brandon says sheepishly. He does at least look somewhat apologetic. "I know, I know, you shouldn't make bets about your friends and their love lives."

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it a 'love life'." Ray drags his fingers through the condensation on his glass. He thinks about the email Rudy sent, the one that read _You deserve to be happy, both of you. If Brad makes you happy, and you make Brad happy - brother, that's amazing. Love makes the world go 'round._

"I don't know," he says after too long a pause. "Definitely a friends with benefits life, I guess."

Brandon sets down his pencil. "Is that, uh, working for you?" 

"I… guess? I guess it's working. It's not like we've, uh, had too many conversations about it." He pauses and clears his throat. His face is hot; he blames the beer. "Well, maybe one conversation about how it's sort of a thing where I'd turn down someone else asking me out. And one about how he likes to buy me stuff."

Brandon whistles, grinning. "Sugar daddy."

"Shut up, no," Ray says, shaking his head. "No."

"Mm-hmm."

"Nuh-uh. And I'm making Juliet split that fifty with me."

Brandon barks a laugh. "Sure, good luck."

*

"Are you sure you don't want to leave?" Ray asks, and slowly strums the open strings on his guitar. The A sounds slightly flat. Carefully, he tunes it back up. "None of this is going to sound any good, I promise you, Brad."

"Nah, I'll stay," Brad replies with his widest smile, so Ray knows he's just being a jerk and looking for more things to add to his mental list of possible insults. Brad is lucky Ray has years of knowing how to tolerate him.

Ray points a finger at him. "Don't terrify Juliet."

"I'm not scary." Brad looks down at Mr. Fluffy, who's sitting next to his foot. "Am I scary, cat?"

Mr. Fluffy chirps in response. Ray shakes his head. "You can't say mean shit, and I mean it. She's a nice girl, I don't want her to run out of here crying."

"I won't, I promise," Brad says softly, like he can't believe Ray thinks Brad would say something terrible. "Wait, your friends aren't actually afraid of me, right?"

Ray raises his eyebrows at Brad and strums his guitar a little harder. Brad glares at him. Ray grins. "I know you're a marshmallow, buddy, but they do not. I think Brandon watched that YouTube video Benning put out on Airborne school, now he thinks you scream in the faces of terrified teenage Army privates all day."

"But I do," Brad deadpans.

"Seriously, go ride your fucking bike. I'll make it up to you later." Ray waggles his eyebrows in a completely unsexy manner. "I promise."

Brad rolls his eyes, but drags his fingers through Ray's hair for a second before he grabs his boots from by the door. Ray finishes tuning his guitar and sets up his laptop on the coffee table in case they need to consult YouTube. 

The roar of Brad's bike has faded out down the street when Juliet arrives with a small keyboard, already looking embarrassed. "You know, if you really don't want to do this, we can have a pop and watch the America's Next Top Model rerun instead," Ray tells her. 

"I just haven't played in so long." She grimaces as she unzips the keyboard case. "Vic was making fun of me when I dug this out of the closet. Then I had to put new batteries in it and she made fun of me some more, and I had to remind her she was _also_ in the not-good jazz group."

"What's she play?"

"Clarinet."

"And she didn't want to join our jam band?"

"I did ask," Juliet says with a laugh. "She had an article to finish, though."

"Tell her she has to come next time." Ray moves the stupid throw pillows out of his way. "D'you want a water or beer or anything?"

"No, thanks."

They make a loud mess attempting to get through "Starman", which Ray mostly knows and Juliet says she also mostly knows. It turns out they're each confused about different parts of the song, so Ray pulls up the cover version from _The Life Aquatic_. They watch it a few times, then attempt again. 

His phone rings while Juliet's working out the right notes for the chorus and he ignores it, but it rings again a few minutes later with the same number. The area code looks local, so it's probably not Wes. "Sorry, one sec," he tells Juliet, and takes the call.

It's a gentle-sounding nurse at the local hospital, asking Ray if he can come pick up Brad, who's been in an accident on his motorcycle. He hears the words she's saying, but she sounds very far away. His hand slips on the phone, suddenly sweaty. "Is he okay? Can - can I talk to him?"

"All I can tell you is that he's not seriously injured," the nurse says calmly. "He's in getting some bandages right now, so I can't let you speak to him, but I'll tell the admitting desk that you're coming?"

"Of course, thank you," Ray breathes. The call disconnects and he stares at the phone.

"Ray?" Juliet asks, jolting him from his daze. "What is it? Are you okay? You went pale as a ghost there."

It takes him a few seconds to get out an answer. "I have to go pick up Brad at, uh, St. Francis', he - he got into an accident." Ray takes a deep breath. He feels sort of queasy and he swallows it down, trying to think of what he needs to leave the house. "Where the fuck are my shoes?"

"Do you want me to go with you?" she asks as he jams his feet into some sandals. "Did they say how bad?"

"The nurse lady said it wasn't serious." Saying that part out loud makes him feel slightly less off-balance. He looks at his keyring, considering. "I should probably take the truck, right? In case we have to get his bike from somewhere." 

He's trying very hard not to think about Brad actually going down on the bike on asphalt, on an actual road. Thank fucking God Brad wears a helmet. 

Juliet starts putting her keyboard away. "Are you okay going alone?"

"What? Yeah." 

"You're shaking, Ray," she points out, her voice quiet. 

Ray makes himself stop moving and takes another careful breath; she's right, and he needs to be more in control to handle the drive. Juliet zips the keyboard case and asks, "Sure you don't want me to tag along?"

"No, I'll be fine. I don't want to make you have to sit in the back seat of the truck on the way home."

Juliet chuckles at that. "All right." She grabs her purse. "I'm blocking the garage, so…"

"Right." Ray looks down to make sure his sandals are on the correct feet. "Okay."

"Text me if you can, let me know Brad's all right."

He leaves the lights on, but whatever. Juliet backs out and waves as she heads in the opposite direction. "I hope to God I remember where the hospital is," Ray mutters to himself, and drops his foot on the gas.

Brad is sitting in a wheelchair in the waiting area of the emergency room, holding his helmet on his lap and somehow looking both confused and angry at the same time. The sleeve that should be covering his opposite arm is gone - cut away, and his arm is bandaged, wrapped from wrist nearly to shoulder in gauze. He looks up as Ray approaches. "Ray?" he asks, his voice wondering, like the nurse hadn't mentioned to him that Ray was coming to get him. Ray knows they must have. Brad's probably on some sort of pain meds, he figures.

"Are you okay?" Ray manages to ask, crouching next to Brad and touching his unbandaged arm. "Road rash?" 

Brad nods. 

"Did they release you?"

"I signed myself out." Brad holds up several pieces of paper. "The nurse told me I had a ride coming, and I have directions for what to do. Then she said I had to leave in the fucking wheelchair."

Yeah, he's definitely on something. Normally, Ray would mock, and endlessly, but he's still on edge. At least now he's seen for himself that Brad's in one piece, just a little banged up. He rubs Brad's shoulder again. "Okay, buddy. Let's boogie. Do we need to go to the pharmacy?"

"Yes. It says on the sheet where they sent the prescription to."

"Cool, we'll find it."

He finds someone from the hospital to push Brad out to the truck. Brad's favoring his left leg slightly as he stands up and gets in; it's barely noticeable. He sees Ray looking, though, and says, "Nothing is broken. Just sore. My arm got the worst. Ruined the jacket I had on."

"That sucks. We'll hit up the CVS, then you can go home and pass out, okay?"

"Sleep sounds good." Brad settles his body carefully against the passenger side door. 

"Do you want to tell me what happened now, or maybe tomorrow when you're not high?"

"I'm not high, they numbed my fucking arm to clean it and then gave me - _oh_."

"Yeah, oh," Ray chuckles. 

Brad's quiet after that, and Ray figures he's dozed off. He parks at the pharmacy and grabs Brad's paperwork to take in with him in case he needs it, and leaves Brad to rest. The tech barely looks up when Ray says what he's there for. "Do you need assistance in locating the correct bandages?" he asks, swiping Ray's credit card for the prescription co-pay.

"I don't think so, they're on this sheet, right?"

"Yes."

"I can find them, thanks."

Ray gets all the things listed on the sheet, regular Advil, and orange juice and Doritos from the grocery section in case Brad gets some sort of painkiller munchies. When he gets back to the truck, Brad blinks at him, the movement slow. "Did you go inside?"

"Yep, I got all your stuff."

"Thanks. You're the best."

"I know," Ray says with a laugh. "I'm glad you agree, dude, too bad it took a shitload of narcotics for you to realize."

Brad reaches over carefully with his bandaged hand and pats Ray lazily on the knee. "I know," he says nonsensically, making Ray grin uncontrollably. "Home?"

"Yes, home."

Brad winces getting out of the truck. "They said I'd probably stiffen up," he groans. "Wait, is Juliet still here?"

"No, she left when I did," Ray answers. "What do you think, couch or bed? The bed will be more comfortable to sleep in, if you pass out."

"Good point." Brad looks down at his feet. "Can you help me with my shoes?"

"Sure." 

Brad balances with both hands on Ray's shoulders as Ray gets his boots off, then limps down the hallway to his bedroom as Ray puts the juice in the fridge. "I would have helped you!" Ray calls after him.

"I can walk, I didn't break anything!" Brad yells back. 

Ray put the bag of bandages and the antibiotic cream in the bathroom, then takes the bottle of painkillers in to leave on Brad's nightstand. Brad's sitting on the bed, carefully removing his jeans. Ray can see where bruses are coming up all down his left leg. 

"Hey, what about work?" he asks Brad.

"I called my CO from the hospital, before you got there, and he talked to the doctor that saw me. I don't have to report back until Wednesday." 

Brad has to be the most responsible person Ray knows. "Good."

Brad slants him a look as he gingerly pulls on one of his thousand pairs of basketball shorts. "You don't have to nursemaid me. It's only some road rash, couple bruises."

"Do you have to scrub it out?"

"No, thank fuck. Put more cream on it and rebandage it tomorrow." Brad does his best not to wince as he gets his legs under the sheet, but Ray can see the pain flicker across his face.

"Well, I can help, I don't have anything better to do," Ray tells him. Then he helps Brad take off his ruined shirt, moving the cut-away edge carefully so it doesn't bump the bandages, and move back to lean against the upright pillows. 

Once he's settled, Brad wraps his good hand around Ray's wrist and says quietly. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

Ray rotates his hand so he can wind his fingers through Brad's. "I'm glad you're okay."

Brad's eyes drift shut and he forces them open again, mumbling, "It's too early to go sleep."

"Not when you're on meds," Ray tells him firmly. "You need anything else right now?"

"Don't think so." Brad's totally drooping, losing the battle against falling asleep. There are shadows under his eyes.

Ray wiggles the sheet out from under him and gets it over Brad's legs, so he doesn't stiffen up even more in the air conditioning. Then he leans down to kiss Brad's cheek and strokes a hand once over the back of Brad's neck before he says, "I'll be in the living room, just holler if you need something."

Brad flaps a slow hand at him. "Come to bed, too. Read or whatever."

Ray eyes the clock. It's just past eight. "Okay. Let me go turn all the lights off and stuff, and I'll be back."

Brad seems to have fallen asleep when Ray comes back to the bedroom. Mr. Fluffy has curled up at the foot of the bed, his head resting on his paws, staring at Brad. Ray strokes his head for a second and Mr. Fluffy makes a sad-sounding meep. "I know, buddy," Ray whispers. 

He sets the alarm on his phone to wake them up when Brad's supposed to take one of the Tylenol+Codeine. He's not entirely sure Brad will want to take it, but Ray's gonna give it a shot. He slides under the sheet, careful not to jostle Brad, who's facing him. 

"Ray," Brad mumbles. 

"Ssh, go to sleep."

"'m sleeping."

Ray can't help but chuckle at that. He slides a hand up to touch Brad's jaw. "I'm really glad you didn't get hurt worse."

Brad mumbles something Ray can't understand, drifting off to sleep. 

Ray tries to read about ERP systems for a while but has to admit he can't focus at all when he realizes he's read the same sentence eight times. He turns off the lamp and slides down in the bed, closing his eyes. He doesn't sleep so much as sort of drift, tuned to the sound of Brad breathing shallowly next to him, the occasional noise Brad makes. It's okay, Ray doesn't have anything tomorrow he needs to get a lot of sleep for anyway. 

When the alarm goes off, Brad tries blearily to protest the painkiller for a second until he accidentally puts pressure on his scraped-up arm, and hisses sharply. 

"You don't need to be the dude going up the mountain on the broken ankle right now, Brad, nobody's here but me. Just take it," Ray says.

Brad takes the pill and the bottle of water and stops protesting. "Sorry," he mutters once he's taken the painkiller.

"What the fuck for? You're my - why wouldn't I help?"

Brad squints at him in the near dark. "You were going to say I'm your boyfriend."

"Yeah," Ray admits, after a second of silence.

Brad gets his fingers around Ray's wrist and squeezes. "I put you down as my contact person at the hospital."

The knowledge makes Ray's breath catch, makes him feel warm in the center of his chest. "I know," he murmurs, leaning to kiss Brad's cheek. "Go back to sleep now and stop apologizing, okay?"

Ten minutes later, Brad seems to be passed out again, his good side leaning against Ray as Ray thumbs through some emails on his phone, and his bandaged arm draped over Ray's waist. Gently, Ray strokes his fingers over the bare skin at his wrist. 

"Ray," Brad whispers a few minutes after that. "Why are you sitting up?"

"I'm fine," Ray whispers back. "It's not like your bed is a bunch of rocks under the fucking humvee. You sleep. For real this time, no more waking up to whisper shit at me."

Brad sighs and resettles his arm across Ray. "Okay."

*

For the summer, Ray's working nearly full-time with the advisory analytics team at Sodaco, so he bids goodbye to Jay and Lisa, and gets assigned a cubicle two floors up. A woman named Marilyn shows him around the department his first morning, pointing out who works on which project so Ray at least has some idea who to approach if he has questions. She's tall and wearing a light pink pantsuit, and with her dark blonde hair in a bun, she reminds Ray strongly of his aunt Kay. "So you're fluent in most of the product line, right?" she asks, as they finish the tour of the floor and walk back to Ray's new cubicle.

"Yeah, I was downstairs with the marketing guys, I started there in November."

"Great. We get a number of interns a year from Barkdale, and for being a small school with a small rep, everyone's worked out quite well. Mikayla in digital graduated from there last year, and there are a handful of other Barkdale grads in other departments, so we hire from there - oh, fairly often, I'd say."

"I'm happy to hear that," Ray says. 

"Do you know what you want to do once you graduate?" Marilyn asks.

He grimaces slightly; it's the world's worst question right now. "I'm not sure. I think I need to decide if I'm staying in Columbus after graduation, or moving, you know? I moved here just for the program, but I don't think moving back to Missouri is really in the cards for me, either."

"Well, I wish you luck with that." She gestures at his desk. "There's a team meeting at eleven, and we'll get you assigned to a project or two then, but for now I left some background reading. We're in the conference room for the meeting. You won't be able to miss everybody heading in the same direction."

"Great, thanks."

Marilyn heads back to her office and Ray sits down at the desk. Graduation still feels so far away, even though he's halfway there. He figures he should actually talk to Brad, but then part of him wonders if it's worth talking to Brad now. Who knows if they'll still be sleeping together next summer anyway. 

Ray wants to be; he can admit that to himself, at least. The idea that he might _not_ be makes his something uncomfortable squirm in his chest. He tries to put it out of his mind as he pulls one of the binders Marilyn provided closer and flips it open.

*

Brad's gone the last week in June, taking leave to go visit his parents in Ventura. He asked Ray if he wanted to go with, looking sort of stoically terrified the whole time, and Ray figured it was best to put Brad out of that misery and say he can't, that he shouldn't take off work. "Deadlines, man."

Brad looked slightly relieved, but he also grabbed Ray and pulled him close, saying, "I'll miss you, though," as he breathed hot against Ray's neck. And then he pulled Ray into the bedroom.

_just landed_ , Brad texts, apparently wanting to keep Ray up to date on his trip.

Ray writes back, _glad u made it, have fun :)_ , and turns back to the digital prototypes he's going over on the computer. He doesn't think about it again until he's leaving work that afternoon and he suddenly remembers that Brad won't be at home, because Brad's in California.

They hadn't talked about it, but Ray is assuming Brad will probably also visit Shannon and Jesse, and the thought makes a chill something crawl up and down a few times in Ray's chest. He's wanted to ask a whole bunch of times if Brad still has feelings for them, but he chickens out every time, reasoning with himself that it's not his business, that he and Brad are making this thing work just fine. They still fuck on the couch half the time, versus Brad's bed. Which is practically Ray's bed most nights now, too. 

Okay, maybe Ray needs to make it his business, sooner rather than later. 

Mr. Fluffy sits on Ray's lap as he eats a takeout burrito for dinner, as though the cat can tell he's sad. Ray rubs his head and Mr. Fluffy starts to purr. "You're such a softie," Ray croons to him, and the cat rolls partway over so he can blink all fake innocently at Ray until Ray gives in and rubs his belly.

Then he jumps down, offended, when Ray's phone buzzes. It's Angela. _ray i need to draw a mechanical something for this stupid class, doesn't your bf have a motorcycle?_

He's still not really sure about this boyfriend designator, but arguing with Angela never seems to get him any further than arguing with his mom. _sure you can come over & draw the motorcycle,_ Ray sends in reply. Brad's motorcycle was returned from the mechanic as good as new, and Brad went over it for another couple hours after that. He's ridden a few times since, but not as much as he did before the crash. Or really, Ray realizes, as much as he did before they started hooking up.

Angela writes back _thx ur the best_.

Ray doesn't doubt that. He dangles his arm off the side of the couch so Mr. Fluffy will come back and let Ray pet him, but then Ray's phone vibrates loudly against the coffee table again, and the cat flees into the kitchen.

_so my folks say hi? & that you could have come_, says Brad's text message, and Ray has to look up at the ceiling and take a deep breath.

He wants to write back that this is too many emotions and Brad needs to stop making him feel so much, but he knows that shouldn't be a long-distance conversation, if they ever have it. And he definitely knows better than to suggest via text message that they talk when Brad gets home. Instead, he makes his fingers cooperate enough to type out, _that's nice, say hi back for me. house is quiet w/o u_

_miss u! & mr fluffy 2 I guess_

Ray snorts at that and takes a picture of the cat glaring at him from around the corner, sends it to Brad with _we miss u 2_. He's not sure about the cat, but Ray definitely misses Brad more than he thought he would.

Brad doesn't text again after that. Ray watches the second half of _Independence Day_ while he tries a couple things on his guitar, then goes to bed.

*

Brad's flight back is on Sunday night, and Ray drives out to the airport to pick him up, killing a little time at the nearby mall until Brad's texted to say he's landed, so that he can minimize the time spent in short-term parking. He'd use the pickup lane, except he wants to kiss Brad hello and not get ticketed for dawdling in arrivals.

"You could have just swung up to the curb," Brad says, when he finds Ray parked directly under the A10 location sign. 

Ray shrugs, leaning against the Yaris. "Coulda." 

The corner of Brad's mouth pulls upward. His foot slides forward enough to nudge Ray's. 

"C'mere," Ray murmurs, glancing around to make sure no one's nearby, before he tugs Brad closer by the front of his stupid REO Speedwagon t-shirt. 

"I missed you," Brad whispers, right before Ray kisses him quickly, a bare brush of lips.

"Missed you, too."

Brad smiles, his face still close. "What did you and the cat do without me?"

"Uh, I went to work, and Mr. Fluffy slept on the couch, probably."

"As long as he didn't sleep on my pillow."

Ray opens the driver's side door. "No promises."

Brad's mouth quirks again. "Hurry up and drive home," he says, and slides into the passenger seat. 

"So demanding." Ray grumbles. He buckles his seatbelt. "I got you an Orange Julius at the food court and everything." 

He looks over to see Brad's already plucked it from the cupholder and the straw is in his mouth. "Okay, now I can't look at you the whole drive back."

Brad makes a pleased sound. Ray does his best not to break too many traffic laws on the way back to the house, but there seem to be at least twice as many red lights than there have ever been before, and Brad's hand creeping over his thigh is not helping in the slightest. 

"Okay, there are lots of things I'm into, but crashing the car because you're touching my dick while we drive isn't one of them," Ray tells him. "It's all fun and games in the movies until someone drives off a fucking cliff."

"There aren't any fucking cliffs around here." But Brad moves his hand to a more sensible area of Ray's leg, and Ray thinks he can again form complete sentences that aren't some variation on 'fuck me right now'.

"How was your trip?" Ray asks, once he's paid the parking attendant and they're free of the ridiculous airport traffic.

"Actually somewhat relaxing," Brad says dryly. "I think the most complex thing I attempted was grilling the steaks at my parents' last night, and I offered to do that."

"No jet-skiing?"

"Considering I don't own one anymore…" Brad rolls his head against the headrest and looks at Ray; Ray can feel the weight of his gaze. "Since I know what you're clearly not asking here: yes, I saw Shannon and Jesse, and while it was somewhat awkward, I spent most of the afternoon being on Jamie duty and chasing him around their yard."

Ray can picture that easily and it makes him smile. "Did he recognize you?"

"Yeah, and he asked me where the cat was," Brad adds, and Ray cracks up, all the knotted worry he hadn't realized he was holding in beginning to dissipate from his chest. Brad continues, "All afternoon, questions about the cat. I had to show him all the stupid pictures you send me whenever Mr. Fluffy does something idiotic."

"See, aren't you glad I document that shit?"

Brad presses his thumb hard into Ray's thigh for a second. "Shannon says it's your fault if they end up getting a cat."

"I will gladly take that blame." Ray checks his blind spot and moves into the slow lane, then flips on the turn signal to exit. "How's your mom and dad?"

"Good. I honestly think my mother was disappointed when you didn't get off the plane with me, even though I told her you had to stay here and work."

Ray glances at him quickly. "Are they still under the impression that I just live at your house, or…"

"I told them," Brad says quietly after a moment of silence. His hand flexes on Ray's leg. "They were - my dad nodded and didn't say much of anything, but when I left for the airport this morning he said that he'd like to meet you sometime. And my mother cried."

"Oh." Ray slides his hand over Brad's and squeezes his fingers. "Um, moms do that."

"Then she asked if things didn't work out between me and Shannon because I was gay. You know it's been ten years since Shannon dumped me? I think I got over it faster than Mom did."

Ray huffs a laugh at that. "Brad. Six months ago you were still Skyping them all morose and shit."

Brad pinches him, which makes Ray laugh more. " _Eight_ months." 

"Uh, I think my point stands." He slow and then stops for the light near their street, and Brad takes advantage to lean over and kiss him quickly. Ray can taste the orange on his lips.

Brad murmurs, "For what it's worth, I think I'm over it," as the light changes to green, and Ray feels warm all over for the last few minutes of the drive.

Inside, Brad reaches for the hem of Ray's shirt two seconds after they've kicked off their sandals. Ray raises an eyebrow but goes with it, sliding his hands up Brad's neck and over his face as Brad unbuckles his belt and opens the fly of his shorts. "Jesus, what happened to even getting in the house," Ray gasps, as Brad slides his hand into Ray's briefs and curls his fingers around Ray's cock.

"We're in the house," Brad breathes hotly against Ray's palm, and strokes him slowly. 

Ray shudders. "You must have missed me a lot."

"...have no idea." The words are barely more than air. Brad bites gently at Ray's fingers, strokes his thumb over the head of Ray's cock, circles lazily around the slit. Ray shivers some more; his knees are wobbling now and he has to clutch at Brad's shoulders. 

"Bedroom?" he manages to ask. 

"Overrated." 

"No," Ray groans, as Brad continues his leisurely pace. "A luxury I would like to partake in, right now."

Brad leans in to kiss him wetly, probably to shut him up, and nips at Ray's bottom lip before he breathes, "Fine," into Ray's mouth and drags him - by the shirt, thankfully - down the hall to the bedroom.

*

Brad's truck and bike are in the garage, and Angela's new-to-her Corolla is parked at the curb, but the house is quiet. Mr. Fluffy doesn't even appear to greet Ray as he takes off his shoes. Dimly, he hears music from the back of the house, and follows the sound.

Brad and Angela are on the rickety screened-in porch; Angela with her easel and Brad in a chair, facing away from her, his shirt off and the tattoo on his back exposed. The radio's on, volume low. Angela glances over her shoulder as Ray's steps make the wood creak. "Hey, Ray."

"Hey, Angie. What are you guys up to?"

"I've been conned," Brad says, and Ray doesn't have to see his face to know he's rolling his eyes. 

"So I took this summer class, right? We're supposed to work on artwork within artwork," Angela explains, gesturing with the hand holding a pencil. "A painting within a painting. But you know I can't just be boring with it. And I knew Brad had that great tattoo, and this lets me copy some fucking awesome metal chicks without feeling like it's exploitative, you know?"

"Sure," Ray says, and Brad flashes a smile over his shoulder. "Can I hang out and watch?"

"You bet." 

Mr. Fluffy winds himself around Ray's feet and meows, so Ray picks him up and settles into the available lawn chair. Angela's got her serious working face on, and her pastels and watercolor pencils are lined up in their open cases on a table she and Brad must have hauled in from the garage; Ray remembers seeing it out there last.

On the huge sketchpad, the outline doesn't look much like Brad, but Ray can see him in the long lines of the back, the lightly shaded muscle definition, the ridge of spine just suggested behind the tattoo. The bright colors seem to be Angela's main focus, as though Brad's back is a canvas that she's transposing onto another canvas. Maybe that's the purpose of the assignment. 

Ray watches the main warrior woman take shape; more defined on Angela's page than she'll ever be again on Brad's back. He knows the tattoo was fading before he and Brad even met. Brad's never specifically copped to it, but Ray sometimes wonders exactly when he got it done, thinks about that much sore skin trying to heal while on active duty, of Brad maybe having to keep it bandaged up under his BDUs. It's one of the things he's always liked about Brad, that underneath the uniform and the regulation everything is a woman with a sword, a pyramid, and a huge wash of color.

Ray does his best not to wonder who put balm on the places Brad couldn't reach. He could probably guess, if he wanted to, but that way lies jealousy over things that ended years ago. 

Mr. Fluffy squirms to get down, so Ray lets him go. He saunters over to Brad, who scratches his back with the hand he's got dangling down, then disappears into the main part of the house. 

"Brad, relax," Angela murmurs. Brad flips her off lazily, and she laughs as she swaps her yellow pastel for a red one. 

"You staying for dinner, Angie?" Ray asks her, watching as she shades in the edges of the rising sun. 

"That depends on if you losers are ordering pizza." 

"I could be convinced," Ray says. He stretches his legs out in front of him. "Brad?"

"No onions."

Angela grins. "Excellent. Ray, you call it in."

Brad lifts his head slightly from where he's resting it on his arm. "The number for Cappelli's is-"

"On the corkboard," Ray and Angela chorus, and Brad's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. Ray can't help but grin. 

"I need to change, anyway," Ray says, getting up. "Come on, cat." He scoops Mr. Fluffy up from the floor and carries him into the house, Mr. Fluffy hanging limply with his tail swishing. Ray deposits him on the bed in his room, and the cat sniffs interestedly at the t-shirt lying there - Ray realizes after a second that it's Brad's - before curling up on it. 

"I won't tell Brad you're on his clothes if you don't," Ray tells him. 

Mr. Fluffy yawns and settles into his nap. Ray shakes his head and quickly swaps out his khakis and button-down for sweatpants and a hoodie, then goes into the kitchen to call for the pizza. It's nearly seven and it's a Friday, so he knows they'll be busy, but the list of places that delivers to the neighborhood is woefully short. 

"Pizza should be here in about forty-five minutes," he announces to Brad and Angela as he goes back out onto the porch. Brad doesn't seem to have moved, and Angela is carefully detailing the warrior woman's bodice with a felt-tipped pen. "Angie, that looks awesome."

"You think?" She caps the pen and gives him a smile. "Thanks, Ray."

"I want to see," Brad says, his voice whiny and making Ray laugh. 

"You can look in a little while; I'll be done before the pizza gets here, I promise," Angela replies. "Just giving your main lady some extra details for now."

"It's pretty faded, isn't it?" Brad asks. He sounds slightly wistful.

Angela pops open a different pen and shades the edge of the sword, then a few of the bricks of the pyramid. "You ever think about getting it touched up?"

"Not so much these days." Brad rolls his shoulders. Ray watches the muscles move, thinks about running his hands over the warm skin. How much he likes doing just that.

Angela hums for a second. "Sometimes I want to get something pretty over my scar, like a trailing vine with some flowers, coming down from under my hair and kind of like, exploding over my shoulders, but my mom's always on my case about being sure before I do anything," she says, stepping back from the canvas. "Permanence and all that."

"I don't even notice your scar when your hair is up," Ray says.

"I know you guys, so I don't even think about it, but sometimes when I'm in line someplace and people are standing behind me, I wonder if they notice." She smudges a little more brown onto the pyramid. "And then I feel all squirmy."

"I, for one, would never have noticed if Ray hadn't told me," Brad says from his chair.

Angela looks over her shoulder at Ray. "I explained the deal with giving you a ride to the MRI," he says, and Angela nods.

"Fair enough." she says. She puts the brown pastel back in its slot. "Brad, I think I'm done for now, if you want to look?"

"Yes, great." Brad gets up from the chair and walks back to them, not bothering to put his shirt back on. "Wow," he breathes, rocking back on his heels a little. "That's - way better than my actual tattoo. Damn, I wish it could look like that instead."

Angela grins. She starts closing up her supplies. "Guess you better take this to your tattoo artist once I get it graded."

"I don't have one here," Brad says. "Almost everything I have was done in California, and the other was in Singapore."

"Well, I know a few decent places, if you decide you want to get her touched up," Angela tells him. 

Brad grabs his shirt and pulls it back on, then slides his arm around Ray's waist and yanks him close. "Hi," Ray says, laughing, sweeping his hand over Brad's back. "You guys should have texted, I could have ordered the pizza from the car or something."

Brad scoffs. "Angie, we'll be right back, I need to converse with Ray about our upcoming trip for a minute," he says, and nearly drags Ray behind him into the house and down the hall to his bedroom. 

"Brad, that was not subtle," is all Ray manages to say before Brad's kissing him, crowding Ray up against the bedroom door. 

"I know." Brad scrapes his teeth down Ray's neck, making Ray shudder. "I wasn't going for subtle."

Ray laughs and returns Brad's kisses for another minute, before the knowledge that Angela's sitting out on the porch with their gross gym equipment is to pressing to ignore. She smirks at them when Ray pushes Brad out into the hallway, having relocated herself to the loveseat with a sketchpad. "The cat's being a good model," she says, gesturing towards Mr. Fluffy. 

He's sitting on the coffee table, where he is definitely not allowed. "Except for how he knows better than to go on the table," Ray says, shaking his head. Mr. Fluffy doesn't move except to lick his paw in a way that Ray's sure means 'fuck you' in cat.

"Hmm, too bad." 

"Angie, you want a beer or something with your pizza?" Brad asks, going into the kitchen.

"Water's fine, thanks."

Their delivery arrives not much later and Ray sprawls out on one end of the sofa and drops his feet in Brad's lap. Brad raises his eyebrows in Ray's direction, but doesn't shove him off, just eats his slice one-handed and curls his other hand over Ray's bare ankle.

*

"What do you want to do with your MBA?” Brad asks one hot Thursday evening in August as they’re sitting on the floor of the porch, mopping sweat off of their faces with towels.

Ray’s not sure it’s fair to ask that when he just ran eight miles on the treadmill and his lungs are on fire. He can feel Brad looking at him, so he opens his water bottle and drinks half of it in one go. “I don’t know anymore,” he says when he stops. 

“I figured that.” Brad slides his foot over and nudges Ray’s ankle gently. 

Ray sighs. “I mean, I thought I did, maybe once? But then I realized coming here for this was really just…” He trails off, scrubbing over his face with the towel once more so he won’t have to look at Brad. “You know.”

“Running away,” Brad says softly. 

“Yeah.” Ray pulls his knees up and leans his head on them. "It was a pretty good running away plan, though, right?"

"The best, Ray." Brad gives him the small, pleased smile that Ray knows by now Brad doesn't tend to give anyone else. "What about your Sodaco place, do they hire a lot of the interns?"

"Some years more than others. And they've wanted me to stay on every semester so far, which has been great, both because they pay really fucking well for internships, and because it's been nice not to have to try and find another place to work. And I've been good at what I've done there; it's just... Corporate capitalist culture, you know? Stuff I didn't realize before I started. And I don't _dislike_ it, but -"

"You're actually a Communist," Brad deadpans. "We can no longer be friends."

"Shut up, Brad, you only pretend to be a Republican."

Brad grins and flings his gross towel at Ray's head. "What are you going to tell your family on Saturday, when they ask where you've been?"

"The truth, probably," Ray says with a shrug. "I need to warn you that there's a chance Wes will be at the wedding, maybe. He's my uncle's best friend, or at least he still was when I left. Jesus, has it really been a whole fucking year already?"

"Yes." Brad takes a swig from his own water bottle. "So what are the chances of a Person family brawl?"

"Slim," Ray snorts. "According to my mom, everyone was shocked that I just up and left, but apparently no one holds it against me."

Brad's frowning now. "They shouldn't."

"I know, it's just - it's weird when your boyfriend is already friends with your whole family, and then he turns out to be a fucking asshole and they don't know it, you know? So I'm sure he and my uncle are still friends, despite the move." He tosses the towel back to Brad and adds, "If it comes to blows, I get first punch, okay?"

"You got it." Brad reaches over and snaps the waistband of Ray's shorts. "Want to go in and do something else that works up a sweat?"

"Christ, yes."

*

The following morning, Brad stops in putting on his shoes, his expression concerned. "Wait, Ray, are we bringing Mr. Fluffy?"

"Nope," Ray says. He tucks two bottles of water into the outside pockets of his pack, which he then sets down by the garage door. "Mr. Fluffy is gonna be home alone, except for when Juliet comes over to feed and water him and scoop his shit. Right, catface?" This he addresses to Mr. Fluffy, who is sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, busy licking his paws. "You like Juliet."

"He likes Juliet more than he likes us," Brad says. He finishes with his shoelaces but doesn't move from where he's sitting next to Mr. Fluffy at the kitchen table. "Are you driving first or am I?"

Ray double-checks that he left the note with cat directions in a visible place on the counter, along with a can of wet food. "Uh, probably you first, since I know how to get us to the hotel in Memphis. Are you sure you want to stop? We could really stay here one more night and then do this all in one shot."

"But why, when I have the vacation time?" Brad smiles. "And really, we're too fucking old for twelve-hour drives."

Ray walks over to him and nudges his foot. "You just miss road trippin' with me."

"The 'no country music' rule still stands," Brad says, giving him a look. "I mean it, Ray."

Ray's laughing, because really, he doesn't even like country music all that much except for the classics, and even Brad rarely protests the occasional Johnny Cash. "I have a whole road trip playlist set up, it'll be great." 

He slides a hand around the back of Brad's neck and squeezes lightly, then sits down on Brad's lap. The cat gives them an annoyed look and jumps down from his perch, disappearing into the living room. Brad presses his face into Ray's neck and mumbles, "Are you _sure_ your family will be cool with me tagging along?"

"Yes," Ray says immediately, pressing his hand hard against Brad's thigh. "Dude. My mom basically told me not to bother with going unless I was bringing you, so."

Brad takes a deep breath; Ray can feel it. "Your mom knows," Brad says, and it's a statement and not a question.

There's no point in lying. "She knows we're sleeping together." He says it cautiously, aware that most guys don't blab about their sex lives to their parents. "Is that a problem? She hasn't told anyone else."

Another deep breath, then Brad presses a kiss behind Ray's ear. "It's fine. After all, I told my parents. And it's six hundred miles from here, so even if your entire family knows about us, I'm sure none of them know anyone from anywhere close to here."

"What, no cracks about being inbred hick rednecks who don't know how to work computers?"

Brad laughs at that, to Ray's relief. "I'll save those for the reception. Let's go."

Ray slides off his lap, then leans down to kiss Brad, thinking about what to say and settling on, "Trust me, if my mom thought anyone would give us shit, she wouldn't have been so adamant that you come with, okay? She's not gonna make everyone go all fucking PFLAG, but - it'll be fine."

Brad lifts his hands to circle his fingers around Ray's wrists and squeeze gently for a second. "If you say it'll be fine, I'll let it go," he says before he stands up. "Did you need to say goodbye to the cat?"

Mr. Fluffy clearly knows something is up, because Ray finds him hiding under Brad's bed. "Bye, cat," Ray says, leaning down to see Mr. Fluffy glaring at him, fur all puffed up. "Be good for Juliet."

Brad's taken all their stuff out to the car and is waiting behind the wheel as Ray locks up the house. "Coffee for the road?" he asks as Ray plugs in his iPod.

"You know it."

Brad goes through the drive-through at the Starbucks closest to the interstate and gets them both red-eyes; Ray thinks it's because he's some sort of masochist who refuses to appreciate modern breakthroughs in chemistry such as flavored syrups and caramel drizzle. Then he merges into traffic and settles the Yaris in the far lane. He drives Ray's car almost like it's an afterthought, heavy on the gas, listening to the radar detector he brought along. Ray rolls his eyes - of course Brad brought his radar detector - but Brad just grins at him, lazily, one hand loose on the wheel and the other around his coffee cup. 

"Just don't do anything that wrecks Samantha," Ray says. "She likes to be babied."

"She's a _car_."

Ray gives him a look of false outrage. "I'm sorry, who cried in Iraq when the humvee got stuck in that sobka field?"

"Shut up and play your music, Ray."

*

The motel in Memphis doesn't look any different than it did when Ray was here a year ago. He doesn't know why he's surprised by this, but he is. The carpet is still the weird pattern that someone made a horrible choice in using on stairs, and Brad frowns at it as they find their room. "This is the worst fucking carpeting I have ever seen. This is worse than that hotel in Australia."

"Oh man, I forgot all about that fucking hotel," Ray says, pushing the keycard into the lock. The light turns green and he opens the door. "Wasn't that like, peacock patterned? Everywhere?"

"I assume it hid the stains well," Brad replies, and Ray shudders in disgust. At the time, he'd been happy for an actual bed and even happier for the whore that Brad paid for. That Ray had entirely forgotten about until right now. He takes an uneven breath and looks over at Brad, who's dropped their bags in the small alcove by the bathroom and is looking at Ray, clearly remembering the same thing.

"I suppose we should be glad Reporter left that one out of his book," Ray says after a few seconds.

Brad huffs a laugh. He goes into the bathroom and Ray hears the water running. "You know," Brad calls. "The girl I was with that night, she would have done both of us. Together."

Ray bangs the bathroom door open with his foot. Brad's washing his face. Ray meets his gaze in the mirror and says honestly, "I would have gone with it but been terrified."

A smile flickers across Brad's face before he blots it with a towel. "Exactly why I didn't take her up on the offer."

"You're thinking about it now," Ray calls over his shoulder as he goes back into the main part of the room. He gets the toiletries bag from his pack, then grabs the television remote. 

He's flipping channels when Brad's arms slide around his waist and Brad's mumbling, "Maybe," in his ear, clearly picking the conversation up where they'd paused. His forearms rest heavy against Ray's hipbones. "But maybe - maybe I would decline the opportunity. If I were offered it now. Hypothetically."

"Is this - wait, it this a monogamy conversation?" Ray asks. He runs his hands over Brad's arms, pokes at Brad's dorky watch. "Are we now talking about how neither of us are gonna bang somebody else?"

"I haven't been." Brad nips at his earlobe.

"Me, neither." Ray turns around and kisses Brad. His stubble is slightly scratchy, and Ray lifts a hand to rub the backs of his knuckles across Brad's cheek. "You're gonna shave tomorrow, right?"

"Shut up, Ray," Brad mutters, ducking his head down to kiss Ray's neck as Ray laughs. "I'm fucking starving, aren't you?"

They end up eating room service while lying on one of the beds, watching _Columbo_ because Brad loves it for some reason and Ray stopped making fun of him for it all the way back in September. "How many times have you seen this episode?" he asks, leaning his head on Brad's shoulder.

"Twice, at the most." 

"Uh-huh." Ray feels Brad's fingers work through his hair. It's nice. "Isn't that Robert Culp?"

"It is." 

Now the fingers slide down the back of his neck, and Brad digs his thumb into the spot where Ray always gets tense, especially after driving. He groans as Brad works his thumb in small circles. "Maybe we should turn Columbo off," Brad suggests, breath hot behind Ray's ear.

"Uh-huh." He's not sure what happened to the remote, and Brad doesn't seem inclined to find it as he pushes up Ray's t-shirt.

*

"Ready to go meet my mom and grandma for breakfast?" Ray asks the next morning.

"Yes," Brad replies. He's wearing jeans and a polo with sandals. Ray looks down at his own worn Converse. Brad must follow his gaze, because he says, "You're not wearing those to the wedding, right?"

"Fuck no. My mom would fucking kill me."

"Just checking." Brad knocks their shoulders together, then grabs the car keys and swipe card from the dresser. "Let's go."

_be there in about ten,_ Ray texts his mom before he and Brad walk out of the hotel, and then doesn't know why he's embarrassed that she's standing on the porch when he turns the car into the gravel driveway. 

He glances over at Brad. Brad's face is impassive. Ray pokes him in the side and says, "Dude, don't be scared, my mom's a nice lady."

"Shut up, Ray," Brad responds automatically, but he smiles as he opens the passenger door.

"I can't believe I haven't seen you in this long," Ruby calls, coming down the steps as Ray gets out of the car, and holding out her arms.

"I know, Ma," Ray says sheepishly as he hugs her tightly. He's missed her, and he didn't realize how much until right this second. Keeping in touch via email just isn't the same. "I shoulda come back to visit. I'm sorry." 

"Well, you're here now. And this must be Brad."

Ray coughs. He can see Brad trying not to laugh at him. He waves a hand between the two of them, saying, "Brad, my mom Ruby. Mom, Brad."

Brad holds out his hand, but Ruby bypasses it completely, hugging him instead and saying, "I honestly can't believe we haven't met before now, with all the years you and Ray have known each other."

Ray realizes that although he and Brad were deployed together several times, his mom never came to any of the sendoffs. She offered, but Ray always insisted it was fine if she didn't come, and that she should save the airfare money for something that involved less crying and moto flag-waving.

"Let's go inside and collect your grandmother, she was looking for the earrings she wants to wear," Ruby is saying, hooking her arm through Brad's and pulling him up the porch steps alongside her. Brad meets Ray's gaze and makes a confused face, and Ray grins and gestures that Brad should go along with it. 

The house looks just the same as Ray remembers, right down to the worn blue sofa that Ruby's always saying she wants to get reupholstered but hasn't yet, and the entertainment center with the one warped shelf that family photos line up on. Ray's grandmother is in the kitchen, fussing with a huge bow on what Ray guesses is the wedding present. 

"Hi, Gramma," he says, hugging her. Her hair is a grey-brown cloud around her head, held in perfect place by what Ray is sure has to be half a bottle of hairspray, still the same as when he was a kid.

"Oh, Josh Ray," she says, kissing his cheek, smelling like rosewater. "Look at you, arriving out of nowhere. Can you believe our Abby's gettin' married?"

"Last time I checked, Abby was still thirteen," Ray laughs, hugging her again. "Wrap job on the gift looks good. Did you find your earrings?"

"I did." Lee cups her fingers behind her earlobe, where a cluster of blue crystals sparkle. "Aren't they nice? Your ma got them for me for my birthday a few years ago."

"They're great."

Ruby tugs Brad closer. "Mama Lee, this is Ray's friend Brad, they were in the Marines together."

"This one looks like he's still in the Marines," Lee says, making Ray laugh.

"I am, ma'am," Brad replies solemnly as Lee catches his hand to squeeze it as she looks at him closely for a moment. 

Ray glances from his grandmother to Brad and back again; from the expression on her face, she's about three seconds from announcing Brad's a good catch. Ray already knows that and he definitely doesn't want to hear his grandmother say it, so he hurries to ask, "Where are we going for brunch?"

"Just up the road to the Bluebell," Ruby says. She picks up her purse from the counter. "So you boys can drive, if you don't mind. As long as we're back by one to get ready. Are you getting dressed here, or -"

"We have a hotel room," Brad is quick to say. "Apparently it's next door to where the reception is being held, or so Ray has informed me."

Ruby nods. "Likely the best idea."

Ray helps his grandmother into the passenger seat of the Yaris as Brad moves a couple of Ray's books they'd left on the backseat into the trunk. "You still have Harry's car," Lee says, smiling at Ray as her hand goes to the gold locket resting at her throat, a gift from Ray's grandfather.

"Yup. She's a good car, gotten me all over the place." 

"Was the car's name Samantha before or after Ray took ownership?" Brad asks.

"You named the car?" Ruby asks, and Brad laughs very pointedly at Ray. 

"Don't mock Samantha, either of you," Ray says as he pats the roof gently, then closes the door for Lee and tosses the keys over to Brad. "You can drive, since I don't think you'll fit in the backseat," before he gets in next to his mom.

Brunch is nice - Ray hasn't been to Bluebell in almost two years, but the waffles are as good as he remembers, and when he steals some of Brad's bacon, Brad doesn't complain, just asks of Ray wants some of his omelette. Ruby and Lee ask Brad a thousand questions but most of them are about the Corps, and of the handful that are about Ray, only a couple border on mortifying.

"Gramma," Ray groans, as Lee asks if Ray has gotten any better at dishes since he was a child. 

"Mostly we use the dishwasher, since it's there," Brad says, smirking at Ray, "but he's been known to scrub out the pots and pans in a satisfactory manner."

"Pots and pans?" Ruby asks, in a voice Ray knows is totally her making fun of him, _thanks Ma_. "He cooks?"

Ray puts his head in his hands in a dramatic show, narrowly avoiding his syrup-streaked plate. Brad nudges it out of the way carefully with a chuckle and says, "Ray is an excellent cook when he puts his mind to it. But we're often both saddled with busy schedules, so it's a rare occurrence."

"Cappelli's doesn't even ask what our order is anymore when I call," Ray agrees. He finishes his coffee and leans back against the kitchy checker-print cushion of the booth, enjoying the feel of Brad's thigh pressed lightly against his. "Work is a little less busy now that the new distribution center is actually open, and next semester my classes are in the afternoon again, so I'll be on mornings at Sodaco, and less likely to get stuck staying late so often."

"Good, you can be on dinner duty." Brad's smiling brightly. He gets the check from the waitress before Ray's mom can make a grab for it. "My pleasure. I insist, ladies."

"Well. He's already better than your last boyfriend," Lee announces, and Ray groans again. Brad's expression doesn't change, but under the table, he squeezes Ray's knee.

They drop Ruby and Lee off to get ready, and head to the hotel. "It's at that place?" Brad asks, pointing at the park next door, where there's a mostly enclosed building that can be rented out for events. 

"The reception. The ceremony is at a church a few blocks from here, on Carollton." Ray grabs their stuff from the trunk, careful of the suit bag. "Do you want first shower?" he asks in the elevator.

"I showered while you were still asleep this morning," Brad says dryly. He nudges Ray's foot with his own. "You sleep like the dead, Ray."

Ray elbows Brad in the side. "There was no fucking reason to get up any earlier than the last possible minute this morning." 

"You made me drive so you could sleep even more," Brad reminds him, and slides his hand over the small of Ray's back as they step off the elevator. 

"Sleep is fucking important."

"You're an adult, Ray."

Ray grins up at him. "So?" he asks, unlocking the room door and pushing inside. "You know I gave up all non-coffee stimulants when I got out of the Corps."

Brad drops the bag he's carrying and crowds up behind him, warm along Ray's back. "Sleep when you're dead," he says, and kisses Ray's neck. 

Ray tips his head to allow him better access, shivering slightly. The air conditioning is on full arctic blast, chilly enough to give him goosebumps, and downright cold where Brad's mouth is leaving a damp trail. "I do really need to shower," he says when his eyes catch the clock on the nightstand. "We're on a schedule."

Brad doesn't say anything, but he does smack Ray's ass as Ray goes into the bathroom.

He showers quickly, then shaves carefully - probably shouldn't show up to see the fam all stubbly, no matter what he does at home. As he rinses the razor, he can hear Brad rustling around in the room and the television on low; it sounds like a news channel. "Thirty minutes, Ray!" Brad calls, just as Ray nudges the door open the rest of the way with his heel.

"I'm good, dude, don't get your panties in a twist."

Brad rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. He's wearing charcoal gray slacks and a light purple shirt; Ray figures it's probably called something like lilac. He's got all the buttons on the front done up, but the cuffs are flapping loosely, and he's fiddling with the collar. 

"I don't know if I've ever seen you dressed up like this," Ray says. He tugs on his boxers. Brad laid his suit out on the bed; that was nice.

Brad flicks him a look as he buttons the cuffs. "I wore a button-down to Poke and Gina's anniversary party."

"That was _years_ ago, dude." Ray steps close and fixes the back of Brad's collar where it's accidentally folded upward. "Are you wearing a tie?"

"Debating."

Ray flicks his earlobe. "Wear a tie."

Brad smiles and pulls a tie, darker purple than his shirt, from his bag. "Are you wearing the full suit?" he asks, as Ray starts to get dressed. 

"Too fucking hot." Ray zips his slacks, then threads the belt through the loops. "Vest, but no jacket, I think."

Brad maneuvers the knot of his tie up into place. "Excellent choice."

Ray gets his shirt on and Brad does the buttons, despite Ray slapping lightly at his fingers. "Just let me," Brad mutters, and Ray sees that his cheeks are flushed. Ray drops his arms back down to his side and lets Brad do up the shirt and straighten out the collar. 

"Where's your tie?" Brad asks, brushing his hands over Ray's shoulders.

"In the bag."

Brad slides the strip of green fabric around his neck and ties it. The backs of his fingers brush Ray's throat as he centers the knot. "There. You look good, Ray."

"So do you." The purple definitely isn't a color Ray is used to seeing on Brad, but it seems to suit him. "Did you pick that shirt and tie so we wouldn't clash?"

Brad smiles brightly but doesn't answer. "Shoes."

Ray slides his vest on and buttons it, then sits down to put on his wingtips. They're still in excellent shape, even though it feels like he wears them all the time. "Are those your uniform dress shoes?" he asks Brad. "That's fucking cheating."

"It is not cheating," Brad laughs. "It's called one less thing to clutter the fucking closet."

Brad's closet is pretty sparse. Ray realizes his own work clothes take up a quarter of the space in there, but Brad only snorts when he mentions it, and says, "I wouldn't have told you to move them in there if I wanted the closet to stay empty," in his _don't be an idiot, Ray_ voice. "Ready to go?

Ray checks his wrist to make sure his watch is there, then grabs his phone. "I'm ready."

"Did you talk to Juliet today?" Brad asks in the car.

"Yeah, I texted her earlier. She brought Mr. Fluffy a catnip toy so he's been high as a kite. Turn right at this next stop sign."

Brad flips on the signal. "I am forced to admit, it was an odd sensation going to sleep last night without him trying to be on my feet," he says. Ray snickers, and Brad flashes him a quick smile. Softer, he adds, "You're a good cat-dad, Ray."

"I try. It's not like I was really ever a cat person."

"I had a dog when I was a kid, did I ever tell you that?" Brad asks, and Ray thinks about it for a second. He doesn't remember Brad ever talking about having any pets, not even when Trombley would go off on his anti-canine rants. 

"No, I don't think you did. And here I thought we'd told each other everything."

Brad's answering smile is wry before he says, "I was only a small Brad at the time, and we didn't have the dog for very long. Mostly I remember that she had long hair, and I'd help my mother brush her. As much as you can when you're little, and the dog's taller than you are." 

Ray's charmed by the mental image of a tiny Brad with a big dog. Brad turns into the church parking lot, which is almost entirely full, and finds a spot toward the back. 

"So what happened?" Ray asks as they walk towards the building.

"With what?"

"The dog, you fucker."

"She went to live with my grandparents, after the doctor told my dad he was allergic. As a kid, I didn't understand, of course, but she and my grandmother got along like a house on fire," Brad says. He reaches up to adjust his tie, then adjusts Ray's, and they go into the church.

Ray spies Abby immediately, flitting between guests and clearly not giving a damn about staying out of sight until her cue. She's wearing a knee-length, sleeveless dress with filmy layers; the best Ray can think of to describe it is _floaty_ , which he figures suits his cousin. There are little pink flowers tucked in her hair. "Ray!" she yells when she catches sight of him, and Ray hears Brad chuckle as Abby dashes over. 

"I'm so glad you made it," Abby says, squeezing Ray's hands. "And you brought - Brad, right?"

Ray grins. "Yep, this is Brad." 

Abby beams at Brad and squeezes his hands as well. "Congratulations," Brad says to her. "Everything looks great, including you."

Abby just smiles harder. "Aren't you sweet? I'm glad you came." She reaches for Ray's hand again, saying, "Ray, I've got an extra lapel flower thing, I'd love for you to wear it, if you want?"

"You bet, Abs. Brad, do you want to go sit with my mom? I'll be back in a sec." Ray squeezes Brad's elbow with his free hand and lets Abby pull him over to a corner of the church. 

"So where's your husband-to-be?" Ray asks her as she pins a small rosebud to his vest. "Last I knew, you were dating that music major."

"That's still Michael!" She laughs. "He switched majors after our freshman year. He's over there, talking to the best man." 

She points at a guy in a fancy dark blue suit, then her expression turns serious as she says, "Okay, so just as a heads up, Wes lives in town again, and he RSVP'ed to the reception. Auntie Ruby told me what you said in your emails, that he turned out to be a shitty human being, so I'm on your side if he tries to start shit. Which he better not, or Daddy might wind up punching him in the face." 

Ray's not sure what to say to that besides to nod. "Well. Let's uh, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Abby claps her hands together. "Excellent. You're free to go, but promise to dance with me at the reception, okay?"

"I promise," Ray says, grinning. Someone he doesn't recognize starts waving at Abby, so she hugs him quickly before pushing him towards where Brad's now sitting with Ruby.

"Ray, you've obtained accessories," Brad says as Ray slides into the pew next to him. 

"Abby had an extra." Ray settles against the thin cushion on the back of the pew, his arm pressing against Brad's. People are sitting down in a hurry now and the harpist seated in an alcove behind the altar starts to play. 

The ceremony is sweet and possibly the shortest Ray has ever attended. There's barely enough time for Aunt Stephanie to start crying; he can see her shoulders shaking a little where she's sitting in front of him. Ray watches as Brad magically produces a tissue from somewhere and offers it to her. "Oh, thank you so much," she whispers, before setting off on a new round of tears as Abby and Michael kiss and everyone stands up and starts to clap. Ray squeezes Brad's wrist lightly, and Brad flashes him a soft smile. 

"We've got like, two hours to kill," Ray says to Brad, once the rice has been thrown and the wedding party has gotten into various cars. "Hotel bar?"

"Why not?"

Back at the hotel, the bar is empty except for the bartender. "I guess it is the middle of the afternoon," Brad says, chuckling. He grabs the basket of pretzels, sliding it closer to them and orders a Heineken. "Ray?"

"Same for me, thanks," Ray tells the bartender. He takes a couple pretzels. "Okay, is it just me, or does this feel super weird?"

Brad raises an eyebrow. "Getting a drink together? No."

"Not the drinking," Ray chuckles, shaking his head before he takes a drink of his beer. He's not entirely sure how to explain the oddly off-balance feeling. "No, just - I feel so outside our usual everyday stuff right now, if that makes sense. Like, I feel like we should be going to buy fucking cat food at Target right now, not hanging out with my family all dressed up and shit."

Brad looks contemplative as he chews on a pretzel. Slowly he says, like he's thinking it out as he talks, "So what you're saying, Ray, is that you've gotten used to our little - our bubble back in Columbus, us and Mr. Fluffy, and sometimes those classmates you've adopted as friends."

"Yes." Ray takes another drink of his beer. "Like, the streams are crossing and it's weird? Does that make sense?"

"It makes perfect sense, for you." Brad brushes his hand over Ray's knee, then tips his head slightly. "Does Nevada not feel like home to you anymore?"

Ray's shaking his head before he can even think about the question. Then he laughs at himself. "I guess not," he says, and takes a long drink of his beer. "This place hasn't been home for a long time."

"Ray, that you, man?" someone says, and Ray turns to see his cousin Bobby. "Hey!"

"Hey, man." Ray sticks out his hand to shake Bobby's. "You killing time, too?" 

"I offered to help out next door but Mom and the caterers all told me to scram," Bobby says, chuckling. He shakes Brad's hand as well. "Brad, right?"

"You are correct. Bobby, I presume?"

Bobby smiles and loosens his skinny black tie a little. "That I am. Can I buy you guys another round, before we've got to go mingle and celebrate?"

Ray looks at Brad, who shrugs almost imperceptibly and nods. To Bobby he says, "Sure, that would be great."

Bobby asks Ray about his MBA program, looking sort of wide-eyed as Ray gives a rundown of the projects he's worked on at Sodaco, an explanation of GPK, and the short versions of McMichael's most ridiculous assignments. Bobby wrinkles his nose up at that; Ray feels Brad laughing silently next to him.

"College isn't all like that, though, this is pretty specialized," he tells Bobby. "What happened to that online thing you were doing?"

"I finished the coding certificate," Bobby replies with a shrug. "It got me a part-time job, for a while, but I'm still working in Dad's garage most of the time." He looks at his watch. "Whoa, it's nearly five, we should probably head over."

They get the gift from the car, then walk across the parking lot and a small strip of grass to the reception hall. Strings of lights blink on and off around what looks like miles of some gauzy stuff draped across the open sections of the building. The overall effect is pretty, Ray thinks. There's a bunch of tables set up, dotted with fresh flowers in vases and bottles of wine, and a smoothly tiled section of the pavilion that he's sure acts as a dance floor. Fans stationed in the corners keep the air from getting stagnant.

"I think the plan is for people go through the buffet there," Bobby says, pointing to where people are lining up, "and load up on all the hors d'oeuvres and snacks and stuff, and then when everyone's chilling out eating, do the toasts before we all get drunk and dance."

Ray cracks up. "That seems about right for our family," he manages to reply. "So we should get in line?"

"You got it, bro." Bobby punches him lightly in the shoulder, then fist-bumps Brad. "I'm going to check in with Abs, make sure I got the plan right."

Ray waves him off, and he and Brad join the queue for the buffet. "This is more food than I think I've seen in my whole fucking life," Ray says. "Except maybe when they had to feed like five hundred of us at once on base."

Brad leans over Ray's shoulder to eyeball the long line of chafing dishes. "We never got hot beef that looks as good as this in the Corps. Or egg rolls."

Ray wrinkles his nose. "Now I'm thinking about what an egg roll MRE would be like and I'm losing my fucking appetite, thanks, Brad," he grumbles, and Brad smiles widely. Ray shoves a plate into his hands. 

They load up and find a table. "I assume we're supposed to drink this if it's already open," Brad says, picking up the wine. "Ray?"

Ray slides his glass over. "Fill 'er up."

He's on his last bite of queso - his grandmother must have given the caterers her recipe, because this tastes exactly the same; Ray's missed her food - when he glances up to see Wes approaching with an expression on his face that Ray can't read. His hair is loose for once, dark and shiny waves cascading over his shoulders, with a few more grays than Ray remembers seeing last. He's wearing the dark brown suit Ray helped him pick out at the department store in Springfield.

Brad must notice Ray go still, because he says, "Ray, you're going to drop that tortilla chip and be sorry," before he also looks up as Wes stops in front of them.

"Hello, Ray."

"Wes," Ray makes himself say in reply, something he can't define making him sit up straighter in his chair. 

Wes doesn't say anything for a few seconds, his hands twisting in the pockets of his suit jacket, his jaw working like he's contemplating and discarding words. In Ray's opinion, this is already horribly awkward, and he tries not to squirm in his chair. 

Then Wes says, "No one from your family would even tell me if you were going to be here."

Ray's not sure how to reply to that besides, "Well, here I am. Wouldn't miss Abby's wedding for the world."

"No, I guess not." Wes' gaze shifts to Brad, who is drinking his wine and clearly letting Ray deal with this, then back to Ray. "Ray, I just - I need to know why you left like that, okay? I didn't even know that was something in your head, goin' to school some more."

"I didn't want to work third shift at the Holiday Inn for the rest of my life," Ray says. He clears his throat and sticks a finger in the knot of his tie, loosening it some more. "And yeah, I could have left a fucking note, but it - it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"A good idea," Wes repeats flatly. "Up and leaving while I was at work."

"Well, it was either leave while you were at work, or pretend I was going to work and leave." It comes out meaner-sounding than Ray really feels about this anymore. "Wasn't that part of our problem - one of us was always at work, or asleep, and when we did do anything together, you'd get all fucking cranky if I so much as spoke to someone besides you."

"Because we hardly ever got to do anything together!" Wes takes another step forward, and Brad turns around.

"You're causing a scene," he says quietly to Wes. "We're trying to celebrate a happy occasion, and you're interrupting that."

Wes narrows his eyes, but Brad's pleasant yet cool expression doesn't change in the slightest. "Are you what he left me for?" Wes hisses.

"Hey, that's fucking uncalled for," Ray snaps. "Please. Go pretend you never even saw me here."

"Wes," Ray's uncle says, stepping up next to him and putting a hand on his arm. "People are starting to stare."

Wes turns his full glare on Ray for a few seconds, but doesn't argue with Ron as Ron escorts him away from Ray and Brad. 

"Well," Ray says, after they sit in silence for another minute.

Brad's mouth quirks. "I have to say, Ray, that wasn't what I was expecting at all."

"What, Wes himself? Or no punches thrown?" Ray downs what's left of the wine in his glass, then takes a deep breath.

"Well, I haven't seen a man wear a bolo tie in that style since at least 1985," Brad says smoothly. "And I admit that while part of me did fantasize about being called up to defend your honor, the rest of me knows you need no such defending." 

Ray slumps in his chair, unable to do anything besides smile at Brad. Brad smiles back and pours them both more wine as Michael's best man stands up, taps on the microphone, and begins announcing the toasts. Under the table, Ray feels Brad's feet bracket his, and he gives Brad another grateful smile. 

"Thanks for being willing, I guess," he says, and Brad laughs at that.

They watch as Abby and Michael cut the cake, mashing pieces into each other's mouths as the catering service passes cupcakes out to all the guests. Chocolate, with vanilla buttercream and a strawberry slice on top; it's good. Brad allows Ray to steal his strawberry. 

The lights dim slightly after that, as Michael and Abby sway around the dance floor. Ruby sits down next to Ray and squeezes him around the shoulders. "You're goin' to dance with me, right?" she asks.

Ray leans in to kiss her cheek. "You bet, Ma."

"And your grandmother? She's been looking forward to this for weeks."

"Uh, I save all my best dance moves for Gramma, you know this," Ray teases, and Ruby laughs. Brad shakes his head, mouthing _dance moves_ , and Ray wads up a paper napkin to lob at him.

Traditional dances and bouquet toss complete, people around the room start to stand and head for the dance floor. Ruby tugs Ray to his feet. "Let's go, kiddo. Brad, I'll be back for you later."

Ray snags his wineglass and drains it. "I must now fulfill my familial obligations and dance with the women to whom I am related," he tells Brad, solemnly. "Did you want to come with? We can do that weird three-person shuffling."

"Maybe later," Brad says dryly, but he leans up to quickly kiss the corner of Ray's mouth before Ray follows Ruby into the crowd.

Ray dances with his mom and grandma, then Abby and his aunt Stephanie. He keeps one eye on Brad, who stays at their table and appears to be keeping an eye out for Wes. "I think your uncle asked Wesley to leave," Ruby says over the music, when Ray picks her up for another go-round, this time to ABBA. 

"I know he and Uncle Ron are friends, I get that, it's cool," Ray replies. "If I really wanted to avoid him that fucking bad, I would have stayed home."

"Still." Ruby frowns and shakes her head. "That ain't right at all, what he said to you."

Ray shrugs before he spins her out, then back in. "It's - it's okay, Ma. He wasn't lying."

"Still not right. You didn't quit him to go be with Brad." If they weren't dancing, Ray knows his mother would be crossing her arms over her chest, stubborn as always. "You and Brad were only friends, before," she says, in that way where Ray knows she's actually asking a question.

"And we stayed just friends, until around Christmas," Ray tells her. "I left Wes because he turned out to be a jealous bastard of a boyfriend, no matter what kind of friend he is to Uncle Ron. I still don't really get it myself, how he changed after we moved. Maybe it was that we didn't have any friends out there, I don't know."

Ruby grumbles at that even as Ray dips her. "Well, he sure hasn't been the greatest friend to Ronnie, given how little he kept in touch with after you moved to the Ozarks." 

The song is ending when Ray hears, "Excuse me," and Brad is standing next to them. "May I cut in?

"You're actually going to dance?" Ray asks, feeling both his eyebrows rise as Brad slides around and lifts Ray's hands from Ruby's. She shakes her head at them; she's laughing but her expression is soft, and Ray's struck with a feeling of apology for all the times he's made her worry about him as the song changes to something slower, but still not what Ray would call a slow dance. 

Ray feels his heart thump in his chest as Brad leans down and kisses Ruby's cheek, murmuring something Ray can't hear before he twirls her carefully towards a partner-less Bobby. Brad _likes his mom_ and knowing that makes Ray feel even warmer inside, makes him want to clutch his hands in his vest in happiness like a little kid. He smooths it down carefully instead, then checks his hair quick.

"Hi Auntie Ruby, wanna dance?" he hears Bobby ask, before Bobby spins her around yet again, towards a brighter part of the dance floor.

Brad turns back to Ray. His tie is loose and his collar open, and the twinkling lights alternately leave his face illuminated and in shadow. His cheeks look a little pink, but that could be the alcohol. "Think you can keep up?" he asks Ray, pulling him close with a hand on Ray's hip.

Ray scoffs to cover his delight. "Keep up? Fuck that, I was dance champion of Nevada Middle School, _you'll_ have to keep up."

"Middle schools don't have dance champions." Brad slides his arms around Ray's waist and maneuvers him backwards a few steps into a shadow. "Unless it was fucking line dancing. I wouldn't put that past you."

"Excuse you, Brad, I can Achey-Breaky Heart with the best of them and my mom has the trophies to prove it," Ray replies smoothly. "Also you are too fucking tall for this to be anything but awkward." 

He settles his hands on Brad's shoulders, one thumb brushing over the side of Brad's neck; he can feel Brad's rapid pulse. Ray smiles, says, "No one's looking at us, trust me. Plus you picked the darkest corner of the floor."

But it's not so dark that he can't see the smile flash across Brad's face before he moves a little closer. "Did you notice I have not spoken ill of any of the country music this terrible deejay has played so far?" Brad asks, deadpan.

Ray keeps a straight face. "I think mentioning it right now counts as complaining."

Brad hikes him even closer. His broad palm is warm against the small of Ray's back. "The temperature here is much too intolerable to be in this sort of proximity," he says, his chin brushing Ray's temple.

"Shut up, Brad," Ray murmurs, chuckling. He strokes his thumb over the hollow of Brad's throat and feels Brad's breath catch against his forearm, an almost imperceptible jerk of his chest.

"Hey." Ray feels Brad's breath ruffle his hair, and the drag of his fingertips as his hand flexes slightly on Ray's back. Brad continues, "Buddy, that's my line."

"Uh-huh." He looks up and sees Brad smiling, his face close enough that Ray would kiss him if they weren't surrounded by Ray's family members. He leans his forehead against Brad's shoulder as they sway to the music, and it seems to Ray like they're not really moving all that much, but he doesn't mind. The song changes to something even slower and Brad strokes his back. 

Ray runs his hand down Brad's arm, then turns his head slightly and says, "Thanks for coming with me."

Brad doesn't say anything for long enough that Ray closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of moving slowly in the dim light, drunk enough for everything to feel sweetly woozy, consciously pleased to be close to someone despite the lingering heat of the evening, and not wanting Brad's fingers to ever stop tracing those nonsense patterns over his lower back. Then he feels Brad turn his head, and Brad's voice is more hesitant than Ray's ever heard before as he says, "You know I wouldn't let you go for anything, right, Ray?"

Ray thinks he stops moving. He presses his face against Brad's shoulder and feels Brad's hand come up to cup the back of his head. "I know now," he replies, and feels the chuckle ripple through Brad's body. Ray takes a deep breath. "Love you, too," he ventures to say. 

Brad grips the back of his neck. Not hard, just - enough. Ray shivers even though he's nothing close to cold, and the arm that Brad's still got around his waist squeezes tight.

*

*

*

He brings Brad with the third time he goes to look at the space for rent, and they stand on the sidewalk looking at the entrance to the old brick building, waiting for the realtor as the late April breeze bends the trees on either corner of the block. It's warm against Ray's skin.

"What would I do with it if you get new orders?" he asks Brad.

Brad leans sideways enough to press his shoulder briefly against Ray's. They're already standing close; he doesn't have to shift very far. "You can't think about that now. Or what will you ever get done? Nothing, you'll always be basing shit on where I might possibly be sent next."

He's not wrong. Ray turns his hand to brush his fingers over the backs of Brad's, then reaches out to touch the wrought iron on the bannister going up the three concrete steps to the door. "I really want to do it," he says. 

"Then you should, Ray," Brad replies, as Jocelyn pulls into the parking spot next to theirs. "Is this your realtor?"

"Yeah, that's Jocelyn." 

Ray introduces them once she walks up, and they all go into the building. Brad goes to inspect the woodwork of the bar where Ray's thinking he'll probably set up some sort of coffee machine. Brad's t-shirt is riding up a little and his jeans are low as he crouches down, and Ray feels no shame in admiring the visible strip of tattooed skin, right where he'd put his mouth last night.

"So, you've had some time to think it over, look at finances," Jocelyn says. "Any closer to making a decision today? I did bring all the papers, just in case."

"I might be," Ray chuckles. "I tried to talk myself out of it for a while, and then I tried to get Brad there to talk me out of it. I mean, this sort of hippy artists shit usually doesn't stay in business very long, right? But apparently there comes a time when taking that leap is the only thing you can do. Or so our friend Rudy would say."

"You know, no one's even looked at it since we were here last," Jocelyn says as Brad stands up and moves on to look at the built-in shelving behind the bar, testing the brackets. He glances at Ray in the dusty mirror behind the shelves and holds his gaze for a second before smiling.

Ray smiles back. To Jocelyn he says, "I think maybe it's meant to be."

*

"Hey all, and welcome to open mic night here at Mathilda's. I'm Ray, and this is Juliet, and we're Oh No I Couldn't. Which is what Juliet said to me when I suggested we start this thing," Ray says into the mic, grinning out at the audience. It's mostly classmates and their guests, Juliet's girlfriend and a couple of their family members, and a few neighborhood people he's met since starting to set up the space.

Brandon whoops loudly from where he's manning the coffee bar for the night, and Ray shakes his head slightly, grinning some more. "Thanks everyone for coming out. Let's get this party started."

Back in the corner, underneath a row of Angela's framed motorcycle sketches, Ray can see Brad. He's wearing his terrible monochrome blue-gray outfit and sitting with Angela, and when he meets Ray's gaze, he smiles. Ray has a second-long feeling of apprehension as he adjusts the mic slightly. It's not like Brad hasn't heard him play this song before. And it's not _really_ about Brad. Or Ray. Or love.

Well, maybe just a little, who is Ray trying to kid? He brushes his fingers over the strings of the guitar, then looks over at Juliet. 

"Ready?" he asks, and she nods, smiling. "One, two; one two three -"

**Author's Note:**

> Ray's school is 100% made up (it's called Barkdale, of course it's made up), but in the interests of sounding like I even sort of know what an MBA program entails, I based his program on [this one](http://mba.uncg.edu/day-program/) (by this I mean I made an entire program's worth of class schedules but then only used the first year). 
> 
> SyFy's Thanksgiving 2009 James Bond marathon did not include _On Her Majesty's Secret Service_ , but did include _Goldfinger_. Yes, the Uma Thurman movie mentioned really does exist, as do most of the restaurants named in this story. 
> 
> Thanks to all my friends on twitter who have cats and post pictures, and thanks also to my own cats, who are lazy and spoiled and therefore good models for Mr. Fluffy. Individual thank-you's: @stolemyslumber for being the jalapeno to my cheese as we obliquely tried to talk about porn out loud in the little meeting room at Panera, @rsadelle for being my read-along person and for whom YouTube scene compilations were made, @syllic for the voles. 
> 
> Brad gets Ray [this](http://www1.macys.com/shop/product/skagen-mens-holst-smoke-tone-stainless-steel-mesh-bracelet-watch-40mm-skw6180?ID=2056510&CategoryID=23930&tdp=cm_app~zMCOM-NAVAPP~xcm_zone~zPDP_ZONE_A~xcm_choiceId~zcid6N0011-5aec998d-58c1-469d-bc57-1598f0169176%40H7%40customers%2Balso%2Bshopped%2423930%242056510~xcm_srcCatID~z57386~xcm_pos~zPos3) watch. 
> 
> Brad's POV for this story is basically these song lyrics, FWIW:
> 
>  _I'd rather be lonely, I'd rather be free_  
>  _I'm as sure as the moon rolls around the sea_  
>  _But I like watching you undress_  
>  _And I think we're at our best_  
>  _By the flicker by the light of the TV set_ \- Jenny Lewis, "Happy"
> 
> And the title is from Bon Iver's "Re: Stacks":
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization_  
>  _It's the sound of **the unlocking and the lift away**_  
>  _Your love will be_  
>  _Safe with me_


End file.
